


Options

by lambchop33



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Bucky Barnes Feels, Explicit Language, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, POV Bucky Barnes, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Sam is a Little Shit, Steve Rogers Feels, This is how Civil War Should have ended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-08 19:34:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 44,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7770310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lambchop33/pseuds/lambchop33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I loved CA: CW so very much...right up until the end when Bucky went into cold storage. Story takes place after Civil War, only Bucky does NOT go into the damn cryofreeze chamber. Instead, he gets a spiffy new arm and spiffy new HYDRA-deprogramming therapy from T'Challa, some snark from Sam, and a lot of time with Steve. During this time they try to figure out what the hell is going on in their lives. Oh, and they eventually figure out that they are in love. Oh, and they have lots of sexy time. Because that's how the movie SHOULD have ended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Caramel Chocolates and a New Arm

Chapter One

“Why all the way over here?”

“Huh?”

“I said, why all the way over here?” Bucky repeats himself, slightly louder this time. Steve has been preoccupied the whole walk over from the living area section of the compound they nicknamed the Ring, and the compound is enormous. Yet they are still tucked away in a thickly forested part of Wakanda, with no other cities or towns in sight. 

The compound is made up of sixteen buildings, each with different focuses. The facility is mainly R & D according to T’Challa, very state of the art, and Bucky knows the layout and exits of every one. Not that he’s worried about security. OK, maybe a little, but T’Challa has made good on his offer of sanctuary so far. 

They have been here just over a week, and not once has Bucky had to disarm anyone, or pull out his secret cache of weapons. Impressive. Well, that situation in the cafeteria when they ran out of cream cheese for the cheddar bagels was touch and go, but that doesn’t count. 

Bucky looks sideways at his companion’s muscular build and height; this post-serum Steve is now slightly larger than Bucky himself, and they match strides as they traverse the hall. They are similarly clad in boots, cargo pants and tees, but the colors diverge wildly. Bucky prefers black. Steve never wears black. He remembers that Steve prefers color. _If beige counts as a color_ , Bucky thinks dryly. Their boots mark a steady time on the slick porcelain tile. 

A lot of memories of Steve have resurfaced in the last couple of years. Some are older memories of him being small and sickly, but the other memories that came back, of him as a soldier, those are stronger. Maybe it’s because they are most recent, but Bucky thinks they stand out more because this new Steve is the one who changed his life, on that unforgettable day on the bridge. 

That was the day his kill target wouldn’t simply die like all the others. This kill target made him feel, made him start to remember things; long ago things from a life he thought was lost forever to him. It was tough, feeling indebted to his best friend for waking him and reconnecting him to his past, and feeling so, so very guilty for all the things he had done while a slave to HYDRA’s will. Including trying to kill said best friend. But he was working on it. 

“T’Challa was over here for some other appointments, so I said we could meet him; stretch our legs a bit. That OK?” Steve turns to look at him, eyebrows questioning. 

“Yeah…” the word comes out slowly as Bucky ponders this. “That means you know what this is about. Right?”

Steve cuts his eyes forward again, a small smile playing about his lips. “It’s not a trap, Buck. Nothing bad is going to happen.”

Bucky purses his lips. “Your idea of something bad and my idea of something bad don’t always match up, yeah?”

An exasperated sigh emanates from Steve’s general direction as they turn another corner. “Are we going to go over this again?” Bucky recognizes the stubborn set of his jaw like it was his own. “You know I had to go get them off the Raft. I couldn’t leave them there.”

True, Bucky hadn’t been thrilled with Steve leaving so soon after they arrived in Wakanda, in order to break his friends out of Ross’s floating prison, but he understood Steve’s need to do it. “That ain’t what I’m talkin’ about,” he growls out. 

Steve stops mid-stride to turn and stare, mouth hanging open wide momentarily. “Jesus!” he bursts out, starts to laugh outright, and takes a few quick steps to catch up to Bucky, who hadn’t broken stride at all. 

“You know,” Steve calls as he hurries to catch up, “Running out of Nutella in the middle of the night is NOT a national emergency!”

_Speak for yourself, bub._

-

Bucky is sitting at a large, rectangular conference table in a plush chair, cushion molded comfortably around the curve of his ass. He stares down at the stump where his left arm used to be. A white stocking covers the scarred skin, contrasting with the black of his shirt and pants. “A new arm?” he says doubtfully. The doubt is a force of habit. “Why would you do that for me?” 

T’Challa, seated on the other side of the table and looking splendid in a sharply tailored grey suit, smiles at him, but his eyes are sad. “You know already I no longer believe you were responsible for the death of my father. Not only that; I believe you have been terribly wronged in this life, James. If I could help put any of that to right, I would do so.” His expression is so solemn, Bucky has a difficult time not believing him. 

Trusting strangers is not a trait of the Winter Soldier, though, even if Bucky doesn’t really think of himself as the Winter Soldier any longer. Nor does he completely think of himself as Bucky Barnes…rather as a strange amalgam of the two. His eyes drift to Steve, who is rocking back and forth in his chair, employing a slow rhythm, blue eyes locked expectantly onto his. Each time he moves, the chair makes a dangerous clacking sound, which Steve doesn’t seem to notice. 

Bucky hopes T’Challa has invested in chairs strong enough to support two super soldiers. Briefly he is sidetracked as he considers how hilarious it would be if the chair collapsed, dumping Steve to the floor. Winter Soldier or not, he still appreciates slapstick. Steve rocks forward; his mouth opens and then silently closes again, which Bucky also finds amusing. Clearly, Steve wants to share. 

“You got something to add to the discussion, Rogers?” he drawls out slowly, knowing perfectly well what the man wants to say. Because Steve is still the Steve he remembers from Brooklyn. Even recent events haven’t changed his fundamental nature. Hopeful. Trusting in the goodness of people. Trusting in the goodness of _Bucky._ Idly he wonders if will ever share those traits with him again. 

Steve leans onto the table, palms spread over the gleaming wood surface. “I know you’re worried about the danger. We don’t have to do it until your therapy is working and you feel safe.” His eyes are intense, willing Bucky to agree with him, to at least trust him.

Bucky snorts. Safe. As if that’s a thing he’ll ever feel again. “You’re goddamned right I’m worried!” He stabs a finger into the air for effect. “I tried to _kill you_ not too long ago. I’ve killed a lot of people!” The finger switches direction, pointing toward T’Challa. “He tried to kill ME not too long ago.” Now the entire hand moves in a crazy circle in front of him. “That’s a lot of shit going down, just between the three of us. How do I know this therapy will even work?” The hand falls limply to the table. “How can you trust people so easily?”

Steve’s expression is crestfallen, but T’Challa is nonplussed. “James, did you approve of the security precautions I showed you on the way in to the compound?”

Grudgingly, Bucky nods. Though the compound is large and populous, T’Challa’s security is stringent even by the asset’s standards. Regular security sweeps. All communication is strictly monitored. No one goes in or out freely; the people who work here all have top clearance. And those who work here, live here. The whole place is like a tiny, self-contained city. Bucky could find no fault. 

“It is foolish to give out trust too easily, I agree. But Captain Rogers and I have had many conversations, and our interests are compatible. No one will hurt you here.” 

Bucky flinches a little at the “many conversations” part. _I’ll just bet you have._ By now, he really should be used to people talking about him when he’s not in the room. _Gonna have to tackle Stevie about that one later._

A new arm. It would certainly be more convenient, not to have to do everything one-handed. But this wasn’t like making Steve a new shield, or even Sam new wings (which Bucky knew they were working on). This would be a _part_ of him. 

He thought of all the things he had done with the last artificial arm. All of the people he…no, that train of thought he tried to push away from. It wouldn’t be like that now; _he_ wouldn’t be like that now. He’d managed in Bucharest to live a quiet life. Solitary, lonely, but quiet. This wouldn’t be any different, right?

It all hung on this new therapy his Highness had offered. The chance to remove HYDRA’s programming was too good to pass up, but what experience did they have with anything like him? Who knows what they would find inside his head once they started poking around in there? It was a dangerous place. One he sometimes didn’t want to visit himself. 

The thought of someone using the HYDRA commands to control him again was terrifying. He didn’t need two arms to be deadly, but the devastation factor would go up exponentially. He feels the bile start to rise from his stomach, the first sign of panic. Desperately he finds Steve’s eyes again. 

“What if you stick a new arm on me, and I use it to kill someone else? I can’t go back to that again, Steve!” He is almost yelling at this point, and sucks in a deep breath, closing his eyes to calm himself. On one level, his brain knows that if T’Challa wanted to harm him, he would already be dead. If he wasn’t serious in his offer to shelter them, protect them, he would already be dead. If he didn’t think his therapy plan would work and Bucky would no longer be a threat, he would already be dead. 

On another level though, his brain knows only to trust himself. No one else. The decision to try a de-programming, desensitization therapy hadn’t been an easy one. Steve knew that. They’d argued about it endlessly their first night in Wakanda. It had taken all of Steve’s persuasive powers to keep Bucky from going to ground and disappearing. 

“Buck.” Steve’s voice grounds him now; Bucky feels his heart slowing to a more normal pace and opens his eyes. Steve is leaning practically across the table toward him, speaking in that low voice that he finds calming. “I know you can’t do that again. That’s why we’re going to take this slow, and I’m going to be with you every step of the way. But _let him_ do this for you.” 

Steve’s eyes are soft and pleading, matching the blue expanse of sky outside the tall windows of the conference room, and Bucky melts a little. His best friend, taking care of him the way he used to take care of Steve when they were kids. So hard to resist. 

A deep sigh escapes Bucky’s chest, blowing a few stray locks of his long, dark hair away from his face. “OK. Let’s do it.”

-

The arm. Is _amazing._ Bucky turns it this way and that, admiring it from every angle he can. It is four months since the conversation in the conference room, and T’Challa’s people have outdone themselves. The arm is still made of metal, a Vibranium alloy to be exact, because he never wants to feel defenseless, what with so many HYDRA operatives still out there as potential enemies. And everyone is OK with that. 

But, this new arm is so much _lighter,_ and matches the tone of his flesh perfectly. The color is not painted on, it just _is._ He doesn’t know how they did it and doesn’t care. They asked him what he wanted and he told them, never expecting the deliverance of something so…beautiful. 

The plates are finely crafted, the seams between them so flawless, at a distance or casual glance one might not even notice the arm is artificial. In his mind Bucky had imagined a crude hand, awkward and clumsy, but his grip seems just as smooth and natural as his real one. With the benefit of NOT being made by evil HYDRA scientists. He finds that idea comforting, that he can discard yet another part of him HYDRA-made and start anew. 

Steve, standing next to his bedside in the medical room full of gleaming white equipment, is also gleaming himself. His smile is so wide, Bucky worries his face might crack. “Do you like it?” Steve questions him excitedly. It’s pretty obvious he likes it. Bucky can’t help but smile back at him and at the technician helping to calibrate the arm. AMAZING. He feels like picking something up with it and throwing it at Steve to be annoying. Just because he can.

Just then, T’Challa enters the room, carrying a brightly-wrapped box with a red ribbon around it. Bucky wonders if he can throw that at Steve. T’Challa stands at the near side of the bed, opposite Steve, and lays the box at Bucky’s side. “For you,” he says with his charming smile. 

The technician delivers a low bow to him and backs out of the room, promising to return later. T’Challa’s skin is dark and smooth-looking amidst all of the white walls and equipment. Characteristically, he is wearing another finely tailored suit, navy this time. “I have spoken with the surgeon and the prosthetist, and both agree the procedure went well. After a recovery period, you will be free to return to your normal rooms.”

Bucky swallows down the lump in his throat, raised up by the kindness this man has consistently shown him—him, a trained killer who has done nothing but accept charity from the moment he arrived. It is a debt he is sure he will never be able to repay, and one he does not feel worthy of. Another argument he and Steve have replayed ad nauseum. 

“T’Challa,” he starts tentatively, “I don’t know how to say thank you. It’s fantastic. The words just don’t seem like enough…” he trails off uncertainly, brow knitted, eyes dropping to his lap and fingers toying with the bow of the present that lay next to him. 

T’Challa’s voice is gentle. “I will hear none of that. You do deserve another chance at a life. Always remember that.” Then his tone lightens. “Besides, it gave my scientists a challenging puzzle with which to stretch their minds. I hope you will be pleased with their efforts.” 

Bucky lifts his eyes and nods his thanks, then glances at Steve, who looks as though he is either about to cry or have a giant sneeze. The grin sneaks back to his face. “You gettin’ soft on me, Rogers? Geez, can’t take you anywhere,” he grumbles. 

Steve covers his emotion by giving Bucky a playful shove to the back of the head. “Why don’t you open that present, jerk?”

“Sure thing, punk.” He’s not sure when they started using their old insulting nicknames on each other, but it, too, is comforting. He picks up the box, rips off the bow unceremoniously, and tears through the paper. He is willing to bet Steve would have found the tape seams, broken through them delicately, and folded the paper neatly back, just like they used to do when the war was on and they didn’t want to waste anything. Predictable, loveable Steve. 

But as these thoughts occupy him, peculiar new ones creep in. Not only can he feel the usual measurements of pressure from his new fingertips; he now is getting input from other senses—softness and smoothness of the ribbon, hardness of the cardboard. He looks to T’Challa in wonderment, eyes big. “I can… _feel_ things?”

T’Challa beams at him. “And the interface will allow the prosthetic to alert you when calibration or service is needed.” 

“How does it do all of that?” Bucky sneaks a look at Steve, who appears attentive, yet just as clueless. That was no surprise to Bucky. Steve had been as hands-on with the design and manufacture of the prosthetic as he could be, asking infinite questions and pestering the scientists in a manner way beyond what Bucky considered a tolerable level. But that was all manufacture and appearance, not about the inner workings of the prosthetic. 

T’Challa happily launches into a five minute, highly technical lecture on the nuances of neuroscience and how the arm delivers input to the afferent nervous system of Bucky’s body so that his brain will receive and interpret the information, just as it normally would from living tissue. 

The upshot seems to be that sensors under the surface send input on temperature, pressure, vibration, and texture. A mild painful stimulus would be felt only if the prosthetic limb’s structural tolerances were in danger of being exceeded. Bucky interprets that to mean it would be a warning if his arm was about to be torn off, say by an angry Tony Stark. How exactly all that is accomplished, he still has no idea.

All of this is shared by T’Challa in a voice so matter-of-fact, Bucky feels like a dumbass for even asking. Once Bucky and Steve have both thanked him again profusely, T’Challa takes his leave. Bucky then looks at Steve. “Did you understand any of that technical stuff?”

“Not a word.”

“Why do I even keep you around?” 

“My steady supply of wit and charm?”

Bucky snorts out a laugh. “It’s a steady supply of _something._ ” 

Steve is smart in a lot of ways, but Bucky has learned that 21st century technology is not his strong suit. He is reminded of a recent morning when Steve had yawned his way through breakfast, claiming to have been kept up by his cell phone delivering email alerts all night long. Bucky had merely rolled his eyes, grabbed the phone from the table and turned on the “do not disturb” function. _Geez, Rogers._

Now that he has time to examine his present, Bucky discovers, to his delight, that it is full of chocolates. _Guess I can find a different box to throw._ He is eyeing its various contents, hunting for the square caramel chunks, when Sam Wilson breezes into the room. “How’s the patient?” he asks warmly, then flashes a dazzling, gap-toothed smile. “Aww, Bucky, you’ll be able to two-fist it again, won’t that be nice?” 

Leave it to Sam to make a bad sex joke right off the bat. Bucky nods gravely. “I’m glad you’ve realized, Sam, that my endowment _requires_ two hands, and you’re able to control your jealousy over it. HEY!” he adds, eyes narrowing, for Sam immediately dove into the box and has made off with two caramel squares. He dances away, laughing, as Bucky makes a grab for them with his metal hand and misses. 

“I see you’ve got some practicing to do.”

“Fuck off, Wilson.” 

The three of them are all smiling. Bucky has to admit he is glad Sam has stayed with them since being liberated from the Raft. At first, the shitty attitude pissed him off. He had then unwillingly conceded to himself that tossing someone off the side of a helicarrier to plunge to their death was bound to result in some hard feelings. 

Over time, the hostility had dulled to tolerance, then actual friendship. _Probably the lack of homicidal tendencies helped._ Bucky makes another grab for the chocolates Sam is now taunting him with, but his metal hand somehow locks up and gets stuck in a closed fist position. The smiles die on their faces. 

“Uh,” offers Steve. Very helpful. 

Sam plops down on the side of the bed. “Shit.” Also very helpful. 

Bucky stares down at his hand in confusion, then remembers that the technician had been interrupted before finishing his work. “Oh yeah, it’s just a…” he begins, and then the remainder of the sentence is unspoken. Steve and Sam stare, waiting for the rest, but Bucky’s face has frozen into one position. He remains silent, staring down at his arm as though mesmerized by the sight of it. The words were just there. CALIBRATION REQUIRED P6- SU 3-12. Exactly as T’Challa had described. Amazing. 

Sam nudges Steve across the bed with an elbow. “Dude. If he starts miming things, I’m out the door. I hate mimes.”

Steve shakes his head. “Ventriloquists are worse. Super creepy.” 

“No way, man. Jeff Dunham is a genius.”

“Who?”

“Are you even kidding me right now? Where’s your little notebook?”

Finally Bucky catches up. “Will you both shut up? My arm just _told me_ what it needs. Right there.” He swivels his arm so the other two can see the inside of his forearm, where the lightly glowing blue letters are visible on his “skin”. 

Sam smiles again and nods. “Wicked.”

Steve sits down on the other side of the bed, crowding Bucky’s legs. Steve’s thigh touches his. “Whew,” he mimics wiping his brow. “That’s a relief. I thought something was wrong.” He reaches up and lays his hand on Bucky’s forearm, turning it to look at the wording more closely. On his new, metal arm. 

And that’s when the shit hits the fan.


	2. When the Shit Hits the Fan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's new prosthetic arm does some things he is...not expecting. But Bucky is a man with a plan, and when Steve needs him, he puts aside his own discomfort to be there for his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this all came out total and complete crack!fic! I was messing with, in which Bucky's new arm tries to make grabby hands at Steve every chance it gets. So thanks for reading!

Chapter Two

Steve’s hand is only in contact with Bucky’s arm for a few seconds, but a bolt of pleasure so intense it borders on pain shoots straight up through Bucky’s core, all the way to his brain. It is as though they had never touched before, and the response is overwhelming his nervous system. Well actually, this arm _hasn’t_ ever touched Steve before. Is this what will happen every time? Bucky is not even sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. 

Ripples of blissful satisfaction are coursing through him. It is distinctly…erotic. But STEVE is causing it? What the hell? There is such a feeling of electricity convulsing through him, if he were to be struck down by lightning next, he wouldn’t bat an eye. His entire arm is tingling—no, not just the arm, his entire body is reacting to Steve’s touch. 

Desire flows like molten lava, without direction or source. Desire for Steve’s hand to remain on him, to touch all parts of him. He thinks he might break a sweat soon, just sitting in bed, wanting Steve’s hand to roam up over his shoulder and on over his chest, down over his abdominal muscles, and…elsewhere. 

Not only that, but for Steve’s mouth also to be on him. What would Steve’s mouth feel like, ghosting over his arm? Over his everywhere? He realizes with a jolt that he wants that, in a bad way. He is disturbed to discover his cock is starting to respond positively to the situation as well, and is grateful there are mounds of sheets and a blanket currently covering his midsection. He can’t let the others know any of this. Confused, he draws away from Steve’s touch. 

“What is it?”

“Nothing. I…I just need the tech to come back in and finish, that’s all,” Bucky explains, but even to him the words sound shaky and false. Nevertheless, Steve runs out to find the technician, giving him some valuable respite. 

Sam stays, giving him a concerned look. “You OK, man? You looked spooked there for a minute. This is alright, isn’t it?” He gestures with his head to Bucky’s left side. “I mean, Steve bugged the _shit_ out of those people while they were designing this. He wanted it to be perfect for you.”

Bucky tries for what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Yeah, everything will be fine.” Now that the contact with Steve has been lost, his head is clearing and the sensation is receding. _What the fuck!_

He tries to think about the last time Steve touched him, aside from that shove to the back of the head he just got—a purposeful touch, not accidental brush or bump, and can’t remember. He is aware he’s not been a touchy-feely guy since their reunion, but has he been avoiding human contact that much? And is he going to have this reaction whenever anyone touches him? He is a little aghast at that notion. 

So now he needs to figure out if touching Steve will have the same effect, or if it’s just when Steve touches him. Is there a difference? It feels like splitting hairs to Bucky. What if he just touches Steve with his right hand? There are so many variables here, and Bucky’s brain feels as addled as scrambled eggs after all that lusty input just overwhelmed him. 

Steve returns with help and a another concerned look on his face, and he and Sam depart. Their plan is to meet up that evening, once Bucky has had time to rest. Bucky’s plan is for whatever the hell just happened, NOT to happen again. 

-

It is several hours later and Bucky has had time to recuperate, as well as do some field testing. The tech is able to complete the calibration on his arm, restoring the normal grip function. There has been no other issue with his fine motor control. In fact, the arm moves perfectly. But there _had_ to be something wrong with it. 

Bucky makes a point of using his left arm to touch both the male tech and the pretty, female nurse who checks on him and gives him his discharge instructions. Both times, only a normal touch response occurs. His brain registers the feel of skin, the feel of clothing. Nothing more. None of the strange, wanton desires he’d felt with Steve. Hmm. This seems to rule out a general malfunction of the arm. What then? 

As he makes his way back to the Ring, taking the long, slow way around the windowed hallways, he considers the options open to him now. One- speak to T’Challa about it. Two- speak to Steve about it. Three- ignore it and pretend it never happened. _Yep, option three._ Bucky nods to himself. Definitely option three. 

He passes Sam’s door on the way to his; Steve’s door is just beyond his own, the suites all being adjacent to each other on the same floor. There are many such suites in the building, but most in this section are unoccupied at this time. Bucky is pretty sure that is by T’Challa’s design. 

He won’t complain about the accommodations at all though. They each have a spacious one bedroom suite with a sitting area and small kitchen. The suites all have windows that look inward on a courtyard. Plus there is a common area jutting off a few doors down the hall with more deep, comfy couches, a large screen TV, and some entertainment like billiards and an air hockey table. The decorating is neutral and tasteful. 

Floor to ceiling windows provide plenty of sunshine and a view of the surrounding compound and distant, green jungle. A lot nicer than what Bucky was accustomed to during his years as an assassin, and during the lean years in Brooklyn while growing up. 

He pushes open his door and strides in. Sam and Steve are already inside waiting for him, lounging on a brown, leather couch. There are a few large, potted plants spaced around the room to tone down the distinctly masculine decorating. The lines of the furniture are sleek, the artwork simple and rough in contrast. 

The men are dressed casually in jeans and tees. Bucky himself has on a tee and soft jogging pants. He realizes happily he will be able to go back to wearing jeans with a lot less hassle. The buttons and zippers gave him a crap load of trouble one-handed. 

The sight of the two men is expected; there is a door joining Bucky and Steve’s sitting areas that they have never locked. Unexpected are two more presents on the low, glass-topped coffee table, along with a silky looking chocolate cake on a large plate. 

“Wow, that looks incredible!” Bucky exclaims by way of greeting them. 

Sam pipes up first. “I’d like to say we made it, but that would be a big, fat lie.”

Steve then chimes in. “How does the arm feel?” He is still smiling like no tomorrow. “It looks great.”

“Feels great, too,” Bucky answers honestly. It really does make him feel…whole…to have four functioning limbs again. He discards the box of chocolates and a bottle of pain pills he doesn’t plan on using onto the kitchen counter as he passes it and sinks into the matching leather armchair next to his two guests. “You guys didn’t have to get me anything; I just got the biggest damn present I could ever get from T’Challa.”

“Hey man, we’re just trying to acknowledge the event, each in our own special way.” 

Bucky is on the receiving end of the gap-toothed grin again. He tilts his head slightly. “Your present isn’t going to explode, or bite me or anything, is it Sam?”

Sam guffaws a little and hands him a shoebox sized package. No paper, but there is a large, purple bow affixed to the lid. Feigning caution, Bucky slowly opens it and peers inside. Among layers of white tissue paper lays a pair of very fuzzy, very purple woolen mittens. Sam dissolves into laughter at the look on Bucky’s face. A pair of mittens. Sam Wilson is a Fucking. Asshole. 

Steve is also laughing, albeit more sedately, and shaking his head. “We’re in _Africa._ Where did you even _get_ those?”

“What, you never heard of Amazon?” 

Steve holds out his arm and points accusingly at him. “Not funny.” 

Bucky can’t stifle a small laugh. Steve is as uber-conscious of security as Bucky is. It was a little funny. 

“Don’t encourage him, Buck.” 

Sam holds up both hands. “Kidding. Actually it came from that really cute boutique we stopped at after you busted me out of the pokey.”

Bucky is openly chuckling, and ducking the laser bolts shooting at him from Steve’s eyes. He sets down that package and picks up the other. It is much more slender, and he can guess what’s inside. The thought fills him with all kinds of warm fuzzies. 

Steve smiles nervously. “I hope you like it,” he says, almost shyly. 

Bucky opens the box; it is a pencil drawing, already mounted in a pewter frame, of himself and Steve during the war, back when they had returned from Azzano. They are standing in their fatigues, arms thrown loosely around each other’s necks, beaming. Happy, as Bucky remembers, just to be alive and together. 

Steve has drawn it from memory, and the details are spectacular. Bucky takes a minute to drink in every line. He loves it instantly. “Thank you.” He looks up; Steve’s eyes look just a tiny bit shiny, as Bucky suspects his own do. “Really. Thank you.” He shifts to look over at Sam. “Not you, you dickhead.” 

Sam laughs and reaches over to clasp his hand, giving it a firm shake. Bucky is prepared for this and simultaneously reaches with his left hand to grip Sam’s elbow for a fraction of a second. A test. Disguised as not a test. But nothing happens. Just like with the Wakandans, his arm registers normal sensation. Actually it registers rough skin at the elbow, almost abrasive. _Sam you need a pumice stone._

What he is unprepared for is the onslaught of Steve, who stands and skirts the coffee table, arms spread wide. Out of habit, Bucky stands too, depositing the picture on the coffee table, and then it’s all Steve, wrapping him into a hug that is all strong, hard muscle and sharp angles. 

Their chests touch and Steve’s mouth is next to his ear and Steve’s arms are around him, one hand clapping him on the back. Steve is saying something, something he can’t hear because it’s like suddenly his ears are full of water, or maybe angry bees. There is a strange buzzing sound, he feels flushed, and explosions are going off behind his eyes, so bright he must close them against their intensity. 

He realizes he is holding Steve as well with both arms and that wasn’t very smart, because here it comes again, the pulsing wave of hot need and lust. Need to know what Steve’s body feels like without all the clothes on it. Need to run his hands all over those perfectly sculpted muscles, to sample that smooth skin with his tongue, to let the stubble of his five o’clock shadow scrape over Steve’s neck and jaw as his lips find hot flesh to nuzzle. 

Need to get Steve alone and naked and spend the next day and a half trying to figure out just what the FUCK is making him feel so goddamned good. Because it’s not right. This is his best friend, maybe the only true friend he has ever had to this point in his life. And he is going to fuck it all up. 

Quickly he lets go before the hug lasts too long and his cock goes from half-mast to full-on-ready-to-party, because GOD how embarrassing would that be? Immediately he turns and heads to the kitchen, throwing an explanation over his shoulder. “I’ll get some plates and forks for the cake.” 

The extra minute it takes him to dig up napkins gives him enough time to think about something NOT arousing…like being crammed into the back of a tiny car, with Sam Wilson in the front seat refusing to give him any goddamn leg room, that asshole… and settle himself down. 

They devour the cake without any further incident. After cake there is some baseball game on TV that Steve and Sam want to watch, because of course the televisions here get US channels on satellite. Bucky begs off under pretense of needing more rest, so the other two head down to the rec room. 

In reality he is not tired at all and the new arm is not even very sore from the extensive procedure he underwent to attach it. He really just wants to be alone to sort out what is happening to him. And maybe come up with more options, because option three doesn’t seem like it’s going to pan out, and the thought of options one and two make his face burn with embarrassment. 

Option four- can he talk to Sam? _Nope,_ option four also causes the burning face feeling. Option five- well. Bucky resolves to put option five into effect the next day. 

-

Bucky’s first chance happens sooner than he expects. It is 1:06 AM and he is hungry. His craving cannot be found in his own kitchen, so he decides to raid Steve’s while he is asleep. The door linking the adjoining suites remains unlocked. They agreed on that early on, mostly because they both worry about security, and also because Bucky still has nightmares.

How could he not, after all he’d been through? But they started only after seeing Steve in Washington. The Winter Soldier did not have nightmares. Did not dream. He was barely alive, emotionally. So when the nightmares first started they were incapacitating. He would wake in a cold sweat, sometimes screaming, sometimes with torn sheets. It would take hours for the adrenaline rush to wear off. 

Sometimes he wishes they were night terrors, so he wouldn’t remember a thing when he woke, but no…he remembers every horrible detail with vivid clarity. He used to sleep on the floor so that he wouldn’t break the bed, whipping his body this way and that. Time had helped some. The nightmares were becoming less frequent, and also less punishing than they had been in the first year. Still, safer to have unfettered access to someone trustworthy. 

And Steve had been there for him, when he woke in confused panic, calling out in Russian and shaking like a leaf. Steve had been the one who found him in the dark, spoke in low tones, stayed by his bed but—come to think of it—did not touch him, who knew that just to be there was enough. Bucky never asked how Steve knew when he was in distress (if he wasn’t screaming), and Steve never pressed him for details on his dreams. He simply gave Bucky whatever he needed. 

Padding barefoot over the wood floor in boxer briefs and a hastily pulled on t-shirt, Bucky prowls silently through the dark kitchen. As he opens cupboards and rifles through their contents, he hears a disconcerting sound. It is the sound of someone thrashing in bed wildly. 

In an instant he is down on the floor next to Steve’s king-sized bed, gently shaking him awake with both hands and calling his name. He waits both for Steve to come around, and for the tidal wave of feeling that now comes with touching him. Curiously, there is none, and then his concern for Steve’s well-being is such that he forgets about that and his plan entirely. Steve needs him. 

He is starting to wake, and when he does fully, he sits bolt upright in bed and looks around in confusion. The sheets are tangled around his boxer-covered legs and there is a light sheen of sweat visible on his bare arms and on the little bit of chest Bucky can see under his tank. His short, blonde hair is sticking up at strange angles all over his head. The pillows look like he has tried to wring water out of them. 

He is beautiful. Bucky isn’t sure he’s ever really appreciated the transformation Steve went through like this. Sure, he knew Captain America was buff. But did he ever really examine that new body in this manner? It may be futile, but Bucky makes every effort he can to NOT stare at Steve’s glorious form. When he is so vulnerable at the moment, the guilt over checking out his pecs is almost enough for Bucky to avert his eyes. Almost. 

“It’s alright, it’s me, Bucky. You were having a nightmare.”

Steve lets out a long, shuddering breath and buries his face in his hands, digging his palms into his eyes and pulling his knees up towards him. “It was awful,” he says plaintively. 

“About the war?” Bucky can sympathize, if that’s what kind of dream it was. 

There is a slight pause before Steve answers with a simple, “Yes.”

“I didn’t know you still had nightmares like that,” Bucky intones sadly. _Guess I’m not alone._ “I thought you talked to a shrink?” He knows that everyone who worked for SHIELD had to see a psychologist regularly, to make sure their heads stayed on straight. 

Steve reaches over and switches on the bedside table lamp. Although the wattage is low and the bulb is incandescent, it is glaring. Bucky hadn’t even realized they were sitting in the dark, so accustomed was he to night vision. 

The bedroom is set up similarly to his own. The bed has a thick, oak headrest, and there are matching bedside tables on either side. While Steve’s is a four poster, Bucky’s is a sleigh bed. Both bedrooms have large dressers that match the sculpted wood of the bed frame. The bathroom, with its large walk in shower and jetted bathtub, is adjoining. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Steve’s new shield on the floor, propped up against one wall. 

Another heavy sigh comes from the bed’s occupant. “Shrink helped with the battle dreams I had. These are…different. Worse. Same one every time.” 

Bucky’s brow wrinkles. Worse than battle-driven dreams? He tried to imagine what would bother Steve more than those, because those were pretty bad, and would be especially for someone as gentle and kind-hearted as he is. Filled with blood, and people you killed; all the horror of war you couldn’t explain to anyone who hadn’t been through it themselves. 

“You want to talk about it?” he finally offers, after coming up empty. “Maybe I could help.” He sort of doubts that, but feels compelled to make the gesture anyway, because it’s _Steve,_ and he can’t bear seeing his friend in pain. 

There is a very long pause now and Steve looks lost in thought, crunching up his bed sheet in his hands. Then he whispers something even Bucky's enhanced hearing doesn’t catch. 

“What?”

“The train.” Still a whisper, barely there, but this time Bucky gets it. _The train._ Which train he is referring to is abundantly clear. God, why would Steve still be dreaming about that? Unless it was because…

“Steve, look at me.” Hands still clutch the bedsheet, but Steve meets his eyes directly. “Tell me you’re not still blaming yourself for me falling.” 

Silence.

“Sonofabitch! How many times have we been over this? It was _accidental._ You are _not_ to blame for what happened.” Bucky is not about to let this go on for one more minute, but Steve is already shaking his head at him. 

“How can I not blame myself? You have no idea how many times I’ve replayed that scene in my head. I should have DONE something.” 

Bucky balls his fists, ready to dig in. Steve’s survivor guilt goes deeper than he thought. “We were fighting a damn WAR. Replaying it is just punishing yourself over and over. It just happened. There was nothing you could have done.”

More head-shaking. “I should have gotten to you quicker. Everything that happened to you after that is my fault, because I didn’t get to you.” 

Bucky rears back on his haunches, taken aback by this revelation. “What the fuck are you _talking_ about? HYDRA is responsible for everything that happened after that, not you.” 

“Yes, me.”

“And this is why you’re still having nightmares?”

Steve nods reluctantly. Bucky is quiet for a moment, then asks, “So your reasoning is that my fall and everything that came after, you could have prevented, but didn’t?”

Steve stares at him and answers tonelessly, “I guess.”

“Then it’s my fault, too.”

Steve shakes his head yet again. Something is going to rattle loose in there soon. 

“Yes,” Bucky states firmly. “If you get some of the blame, then I do, too. I was there, you know. Do you blame me for falling off that train?”

“NO! Of course not!”

“Do you blame me for not resisting HYDRA’s mind-control program?” Bucky cringes internally, not actually wanting to hear how Steve will respond to this, but Steve’s absolution is more important right now than Bucky’s ever-present guilt over that very issue. The unspoken question is, _if you’re going to blame someone for everything I did, why aren’t you blaming me? After all, I blame myself all the time._

“Of course I don’t blame you!” Steve practically explodes. “You know I don’t! They tortured you and brainwashed you! This is HYDRA we’re talking about! You had no control over that!”

Bucky moves a little closer to the edge of the bed. “Bingo.” He forces himself to say the words, even if he doesn’t actually apply them to himself. “So if I had no control over any of that, then you didn’t either. It was HYDRA. You hear me, you big idiot? You have to accept the fact that you can’t prevent every bad thing in the world from happening. No serum can do that.”

Steve is silent a good long while now, eyes unfocused as his internal struggle goes on. Bucky lets him be until he is ready to speak; he remains kneeling on the floor next to the bed, just the way Steve would. 

“I guess I never thought of it in that way before.” 

“Yeah, you were too busy heaping guilt on yourself. I’ve dipped into that well plenty of times.”

Steve blinks a few times and sighs. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

“Steve.” Those blue eyes focus on him, electric even in the dim light. 

“You know I’ve never blamed you for my fall, right? You know that? It’s important.”

Only a brief pause this time and then, “You’re a good man, James Buchanan Barnes.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth lifts a fraction of an inch. “So are you, you dumb-ass punk. Now go back to sleep.”

Steve begins the task of unraveling his sheet as Bucky rises. “Thanks, Buck.”

“Anytime.”

“Hey, Bucky? How did you know? What were you doing here?”

Bucky can’t help grinning now. “I was stealing the Strawberry Pop-Tarts out of your kitchen.” 

Steve lies down and pulls up the bed covers over himself. He looks at Bucky again. “I have Strawberry Pop-Tarts in my kitchen?”


	3. This New Arm Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is starting to figure some things out. He likes his new arm, and has some fun with it and Steve. And then he has fun with it alone. *eyebrow waggle*

Chapter Three

Bucky gets up in the morning following Steve’s nightmare feeling pretty confident in the success of option five—keep touching Steve until all of the weird, erotic feelings stop. His reasoning is that eventually, those afferent nerve fiber thingies will stop misbehaving and the situation will go back to normal.

After all, last night he touched Steve while he was IN BED, wearing not a lot of clothing, thank you very much, and didn’t have a problem. 

Today, Steve wants them to go down to the gym and see how the new arm responds to some training exercises. Easy peasy. Bucky even whistles a little while he dresses, enjoying having the use of two hands to help pull on black running shorts and a grey, water-wicking, short sleeved running shirt. 

The weight of this arm is different. It doesn’t pull down on his shoulder blade so heavily. He feels a little uncoordinated, but is sure once he adjusts to the lighter load, his skills will be unaffected. He’s not sure what he needs all those ass-kicking, ninja-assassin skills for, since he has no plans to resume that life, but in the interest of self-defense, it won’t hurt to get back up to speed. 

When he meets Steve in the training gym he notices he is wearing similar attire, but geez, why hasn’t he ever noticed how tightly Steve’s shirts cling to his pecs? He can see practically all of his six pack outlined under there too. Does Steve not know how to wash and dry laundry correctly? Is he shrinking all of his shirts? He makes a mental note to follow Steve to the laundry room one day. 

He looks around the well-appointed gym and takes a visual inventory. There are several areas sectioned off for different equipment. The gym is two stories tall, open in the center all the way up to the roof. Around the perimeter on the second floor is an oval track for running. When Bucky gets bored of that, there is a wide array of aerobic equipment on the first floor. 

Probably not going to do that, nor any of the body weight exercises he’s been doing just to stay in shape. Absolutely not the puny Cybex machines that Sam and the off-duty Wakandan workers prefer. Those don’t have enough weight on them to even make him or Steve break a sweat. He eyes the punching bags, knowing how much his friend likes those. 

Sure enough, Steve beckons him over to where a few large bags hang, suspended by chains from metal frames on the wall. “Want to try a few punches? Then maybe we can do the obstacle course?” Steve seems relaxed and in good spirits. Bucky does not bring up the events of the previous night, preferring to see if Steve mentions any of it. 

The obstacle course sounds appealing to him; it is challenging, with lots of hurdles to climb under and over, tractor tires to push, weighted sleds to pull. Fun. They go a few rounds with the bags so that he can acclimate himself to the way the metal arm performs and feels. Punching the bag doesn’t hurt, like T’Challa intimated, but he gets more of a sense of pressure than he ever did with HYDRA’s arm. Interesting. 

After they have both punched a couple of bags so hard they fly off the chains, Steve motions for Bucky to stop. “I want you to know, I thought a lot about what you said last night. And I…I’m going to try and keep it in perspective.” 

“You do that, Stevie.” _Meanwhile, I’ll try and figure out how to do the same._ “Wanna hit the obstacle course now? This is feeling pretty good.” 

Bucky wants to accidentally brush up against Steve with his arm somehow and test out option five, but hasn’t quite managed it yet. He does manage to notice that Steve smells really good, like whatever soap or shampoo he is using has an appealing, clean scent. Almost…alluring…somehow. 

Aren’t both their bathrooms stocked with the same stuff? He doesn’t think he smells that good himself. Anyway, he’ll have to ask about that later, because while he was busy trying to unobtrusively sniff at him, Steve has passed by him on the way over to the long obstacle course. 

After loading up the sleds with several hundred extra pounds, they both start in on the course. Steve is ahead of him, setting a good pace, and Bucky finds it both calming and exhilarating. It feels so good to run, crawl, jump; he feels balanced and natural. 

He revels in the feel of the smooth gymnasium floor underneath him, the cold metal of the weighted sled, the warmer, more pliable texture of the rubber tires, sensing it all with both arms. Steve checks behind him occasionally to see if Bucky is doing alright, but otherwise lets him do his own thing. 

The tires are gigantic, ten feet tall. They must have been brought in especially for the pair of them. Bucky doesn’t know what kind of equipment they were designed for originally, but they work pretty well as super soldier toys. The two of them have fun flipping them back and forth between themselves for a while before completing the course. 

Bucky only notices the girth of Steve’s thighs and biceps a little, and tells himself that it’s only so he can compare his own muscle tone. _Don’t want to get flabby, after all._ Then Steve turns around and bends over, and _holy fuck_ he must have the finest ass on the planet. The outline of hard, rounded muscle isn’t hidden much by those shorts. Bucky isn’t staring, though. How long can you look at something before it’s considered staring? OK, he’s staring. But Steve wouldn’t notice something like that…

“Do you like it?”

Bucky starts and shifts his eyes to Steve’s face guiltily. “Excuse me?”

“Do you like it.” Steve has the tire up on end and is jiggling it back and forth distractedly, like it’s an inner tube and not a rubber tire weighing hundreds of pounds. “The arm, Buck. Do you like your prosthetic arm?” he repeats himself, since Bucky is staring incomprehensively now. Steve rolls the tire over his way.

“Oh!” Relief floods through him. “Hell yeah, I like it. It’s fantastic!” He rolls the tire back again.

“Are you having pain in your shoulder at all? How does the arm feel?” 

Steve seems genuinely interested, so Bucky tries to formulate a good answer. Without telling him it feels like he should spend every waking second using that arm to hold him down and ravish him. He settles for a part of the truth. “The shoulder is just a little sore from the procedure. Nothing major. The arm…feels like…my other arm, mostly. It’s hard to explain.” _Ain’t that the truth._

Steve seems content with this response. “I’m glad you agreed to have it made,” he tells him, and Bucky can see that he means it. 

It had been a touch and go event. After initially agreeing to the idea, he had balked at being back inside a lab, with doctors and technicians poking and prodding him. Steve had unapologetically hauled him right out of there and into the hallway, and stayed with him until the panic subsided. Bucky had been nearly bent over double, trying not to hyperventilate. 

The memories of dark, foul laboratories are strong ones, and though this environment is completely the opposite of that, Bucky couldn’t help but make the comparison. The lab here is bright, open and airy, but more importantly, the people here are not the poisonous, cruel ones he remembers. These people are kind, and care about how he feels, and in the end that was what propelled Bucky back into the lab, with Steve hovering at his elbow. 

It makes Bucky smile, how Steve wants to take care of him. He has a fragmented memory of taking care of a young Steve after he got bloodied up by a bully in some alley, and wonders if this is where the impulse Steve has to look out for him comes from. Or is just guilt over what Steve sees as his fault, the bad shit that happened to Bucky after his fall? 

He wants to believe that’s not the case. All of this time they’ve had to spend together makes him feel like it’s not just guilt motivating Steve. They have had the same camaraderie he remembers from before. It feels…nice. Bucky’s had a lot of _not nice_ in his life. Too much _not nice._ So he’s not taking anything for granted. He knows how lucky he is to have someone like Steve around. And Sam. And T’Challa.

“Why are you smiling?” Steve asks, as he himself starts smiling, too. 

The tire comes flipping back toward him again, and Bucky feels his grin widen to show white teeth. “Just thinking.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Ha ha. You’re hilarious.” The smile widens more. “Do you think if we ask T’Challa to upgrade Sam’s new wings and paint them to look like a butterfly, he would do it?”

Steve just laughs. “Come on.” 

They move on from the tires. Towards the end of the course are thick ropes, suspended from the high ceiling, about 75 feet up. Steve shimmies up the first one easily and then drops to the floor, landing lightly on his feet like a cat. 

Calculating his grip strength, Bucky is slower on the second rope. Hand control is taking longer to get used to, compared to just brute strength tasks. He makes it to the top, pleased he has not squeezed so tightly as to sever the rope. 

He lets go and peers down at the floor and OH SHIT he didn’t realize Steve had been re-tying his shoe directly under his flight path. “Steve!” he yells, and at the last second Steve is able to get out from under him. Still, Bucky cannot avoid some connection with that massive body. 

He ends up rolling over the top of him and pulling him along for the ride. Bucky finds himself sprawled on his back on the floor, breathless, with Steve on top of him, one knee on either side of his stomach and his right arm pinning down Bucky’s left one. Steve’s face is inches from his.

For a split second Bucky is confident— _I’ve got this_ —and then he is betrayed by his body again, for Steve’s thighs are touching his flanks, his weight is pressing down on Bucky’s abdomen, and his arm still pins down Bucky’s. Everywhere the points of contact between them are like licks of fire, searing his skin. He can feel every bit of Steve’s substantial weight pressing into him. 

The scent of Steve is all around him, and did he think he smelled clean and fresh earlier? Steve smells like pure sex, like his pheromones are turned all the way up to OBNOXIOUS. His lips are parted in surprise, and with each breath he takes, Bucky can see those defined chest muscles rise and fall underneath that tight shirt, and feel the warm puffs of air on his face. 

Bucky wants nothing more than to grab the back of that blonde head and bring their mouths together, so he can lick into that warm, tempting space and taste him. A deep, spell-binding, mind-blowing kiss. No space between them for a few hours. Or days. That’s what he wants. WANT WANT WANT his body is screaming at his brain; all of this in the span of a few seconds, and then Steve is maneuvering off of him, putting some much needed air and distance between them. 

“You OK?” he questions, and the words sound sort of breathless, the way Bucky feels. 

“Yeah, I’m good. Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” 

“It’s fine, no harm done. Maybe we should head for the showers and meet up for lunch?”

Bucky nods and stupidly, stubbornly takes the hand Steve offers, either because he still wants option five to work, or he is just a big glutton for punishment. Steve helps him up not just with one hand; he puts his other hand on Bucky’s back to steady him and JESUS CHRIST that hand feels so good sliding over him. He can feel the raw strength in Steve’s body as he pulls him effortlessly up from the floor. 

Needing to get out of there RIGHT NOW, Bucky beats a hasty retreat to the Ring, while Steve stops to speak to the equipment attendant about the punching bags they broke. He pounds up the stairs three at a time and barges into his suite like a bull in a china shop. What follows is the longest, coldest shower he can stand. 

As he ignores his throbbing cock, he tries to reason it out. And fails. He wanted to kiss Steve into oblivion. The _malfunction_ appears to be in his brain. What if the arm has nothing to do with anything? What if he just wants Steve because Steve is _there_ , and is the one person Bucky feels most comfortable with? And is totally and inarguably gorgeous? He leans under the shower head, letting the cold water sluice down over his back and legs. Not enough. He stands straight and lets the cold spray help take care of his stubborn cock. 

It’s been so long since he’s had anything even remotely close to intimacy. Maybe he’s just gotten so lonely, he’s grasping for the warmest, most inviting body around? _Steve._ The guy _is_ the definition of sex on legs. Tall, broad shouldered, lean and cut and oh so tasty looking. 

He feels like a wanker even thinking like that about his friend. He is grateful to have Steve back; he shouldn’t even be _thinking_ about projecting his own base needs onto him. 

He shuts off the water and steps out to towel-dry off. He’s just going to have to figure out a way to be around Steve without going crazy, and that’s all there is to it. 

-

Another week goes by and Bucky is as jittery as the proverbial cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Trying to act normally when every innocent touch elicits fiery thoughts of love-making is not something Bucky has had training to deal with. He’s fairly certain he’s been hiding it well enough that Steve and Sam may think he’s acting a little strangely, but don’t know the reason behind the behavior.

The reason is that he _is_ going crazy. It’s impossible to be close to Steve and not be drawn in further, like metal to a magnet. He is filled with a longing he doesn’t know what to do about. Well, he knows what he _wants_ to do about it. He’s just not sure that’s something Steve would want as well. 

The sexual attraction he feels toward him has not abated; in fact it has now invaded his dreams. Waking up with morning wood is nothing new. Waking up with morning wood, Steve’s name on his lips and a distinct dream memory of those lips sucking down the length of Steve’s cock—that’s new. 

Try as he might, he can’t shake the dream off. Lying alone in bed, still drowsy and relaxed, he watches the early morning honey-colored streams of light play across the room and listens to the chirping songs of birds from beyond his window. African bird sounds are much more exotic than the European and North American varieties he got used to hearing. His left hand finds its way to his cock, giving it a tug. It’s a good exercise in motor control for his new arm. Healthy. Yeah. Surely there’s no harm in self-indulging in some fantasy sex? 

Plus, he’s so hard and the tip of his cock is leaking already. He uses that for a bit of lubrication, giving himself a few languid strokes as he tries to recall the dream. It’s not difficult to conjure up the image—Steve’s scrumptious body has been on his mind seemingly non-stop. He imagines Steve lying below him, sweaty and gasping, as Bucky grips his luscious thighs and takes him deep. 

_Oh God._ A few more strokes with his hand, followed by some thumbing of his slit. Steve would moan softly for him and spread his legs even wider. Bucky would reward him by teasing his tongue into his slit, then lick from base to tip before swallowing him up again. Steve would taste so deliciously good, his thick length filling up Bucky’s mouth. He can almost feel the contours of Steve’s thigh muscles under his hands, his skin against his questing tongue. 

He imagines bobbing his head, taking Steve to the back of his throat and back out again to the head, keeping up a steady pressure and rhythm, waiting for Steve’s passion to build and build. How long would it take for Steve to groan and writhe and come undone underneath him? How many times would Bucky hollow his cheeks, sucking hard on that thickness, feeling it twitch and swell with need, until Steve begged him for release? 

Bucky is palming himself hard now, fingers curled around his own erection, feeling that ever increasing tightness and friction. He arches his back, digging his head back into his own pillow. He jerks himself harder, faster, wanting to come while thinking of Steve. This new arm thing is working out pretty well. 

Steve’s cock would be slick and rigid, would feel so fucking fantastic against his own wet lips. Maybe he would slide his fingers into Bucky’s hair to hold him, and try to pump his cock into his mouth more deeply. Maybe he would fuck Bucky’s mouth until Bucky became so horny and aroused he would come untouched. Then when Steve would finally reach his orgasm, his breath would hitch and he would thrust his hips up, spilling himself with a hoarse cry, until he was wrecked and exhausted. 

And Bucky would have done that to him, made him feel so good. Made him _look_ so good. He can picture post-coital Steve Rogers, with a rosy glow to his creamy skin, sedate smile on his handsome face, muscles loose but still seemingly made out of granite. That thought alone sends Bucky over the edge; he’s coming hard and fast, until he has spent himself all over his own stomach and sheets. 

He grits his teeth, trying not to cry out. Steve’s name is still on his lips. He lies unmoving but chest heaving, sheets sticking to his chest and stomach. No harm. Right. _I just blew my fucking wad while thinking about my best friend. I am such a wanker._ Light is glaring through the window blinds, making him squint. Those damn squawking birds are making an awful racket outside. Time for option six.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is reading! The CW blooper teaser (which is hilarious, go watch it!) is getting me pretty amped up for the upcoming DVD. Can't wait!


	4. HYDRA Sucks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Sam get themselves into some trouble. Bucky is not pleased, and flashes back to that period of time in Siberia, after Tony tried to kill him. But in the aftermath, he does figure some more stuff out. Pretty Important Stuff.

Chapter Four

Bucky is pacing. Around and around the hallways of the Ring. Its circular structure makes it the perfect choice for such activity—there’s never any end. Actually, pacing sucks and he would rather be doing just about anything else, except for sitting in his suite and waiting. That was killing him. He had to move. He had his cell phone with him and T’Challa had promised to alert him whenever there was news, so really he could go anywhere. 

But still, he paces. After a few rounds, he could completely lose track of where he is; all of the hallways look the same. Earthy colors, soft white overhead lighting, tiled floors. He thought he could lose himself, too. Just foot over foot. Hall after hall. He’s trying to make his brain shut off the worry, but it’s not working. 

This is not the first time Steve and Sam have left the compound, but it is the longest time. Two days. Bucky isn’t really sure just how many times they’ve done this, because early on, when the desensitization therapy was really intense, sessions lasted for hours upon painstaking hours. 

Steve was always present for those, but when Bucky was done, he was so mentally wasted he would immediately walk back to his suite and pass out on his bed till the next day, waking with a headache that would bring down a mammoth. Out of it long enough for them to take their little jaunts to the outside world. Several hours, maybe the better part of a day. Then they were back, and Bucky would be none the wiser.

Once the therapy started working, sessions weren’t so debilitating, and Bucky realized something was going on, Steve of course told him everything. Didn’t take a genius to guess—T’Challa was supplying them with intel on HYDRA holdout bases and/or personnel, and the duo would go out and destroy it all. 

He supposed it was inevitable that Steve would want some payback. He and Sam were probably getting bored staying inside all the time anyway. Planning and going on missions took up a significant portion of that empty time. And certainly made the world a safer place. 

Still, Bucky had not exactly been…pleased. He’d been downright pissed, actually. For one thing, it was quite a security risk to take, when Steve was supernaturally concerned about safety. What if they were recognized and tracked? What if Ross got his hands on them again? Bucky wasn’t convinced there wouldn’t be killing first, questions second. 

Also, he didn’t like them going without him, period. Just because Steve had a new shield and Sam had new wings, that didn’t make them invincible. Bucky _knew_ HYDRA, in ways they couldn’t. He could have helped…or, he could have been captured and used again as a killing machine. Which is why he never accompanied them. Maddening. 

The good news is that his therapy has been working; in fact, he’s almost completed it, which is why he allowed himself to be fitted with the prosthetic. The bad news is that Steve has been gone two whole days, is overdue, and Bucky hasn’t heard a peep. 

-

It is just after midnight. He sees Sam first, stepping out of a treatment room in the medical wing just as he is flying in from the stairwell. “Tell me,” he barks out, a little more sharply than he means to, and stops short once he gets near enough to get a good look at Sam in the dim night-time lighting. 

He’s still wearing his combat fatigues and has abrasions covering his arms and neck, nothing that won’t heal in a few weeks. There is a fiberglass cast covering one forearm, but it is his expression that knocks Bucky for a loop. He’s never seen Sam look so rattled. “I’m sorry—are you OK?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m so sorry Bucky, it happened so fast, and you know he moves like lightning when he wants to.” Sam gestures to Bucky’s…well, to all of Bucky. “Yeah, you know. Doc says he’ll pull through once they get the shrapnel out. It’s not life-threatening.”

Bucky wants to give Sam a bear hug at this news flash, but settles for pulling him into a nook next to the nurse’s station and pushing him down into a chair. “Sit down before you fall down, you look terrible.” 

Sam doesn’t argue, just sinks down into the chair. The pretty nurse who attended Bucky after his implantation procedure bustles past, heading for another room down the hall. 

“Can you tell me what happened?” Bucky makes the request gently, not wanting to push too hard, but he is frantic for more details. All T’Challa had told him was that they were both injured but alive, had come in on the helicopter to be taken directly to medical, and that Steve would need to be taken to surgery immediately. “Your wrist; is it broken?”

Sam looks down ruefully at his arm. “Yeah, man, but it’s OK.” He pauses briefly, then starts in with his story. “We were mopping up, looking for the last couple of scum when we realized they had their escape route mined, and were setting off explosions as they went. We were being careful, but a huge one went off, I think before they meant it to, because one of them got smoked by it.” 

Bucky nods. Typical HYDRA: extinguish everything and everyone you can’t salvage. 

Sam continues, “The blast was crazy big, and before I knew what was what, Steve had put himself between me and it. He had his shield up, but still caught a lot of shrapnel in his side. I had on body armor…if he hadn’t been trying to shield us both…” 

Sam blows some air out through his mouth noisily. “We got thrown clear. That’s when my wrist got broken. We missed our first rendezvous, and he was losing a lot of blood. We had to get out of there on foot, and that was slow going. That fucker weighs a _ton._ ” He stops to give Bucky a weary, thin smile. 

“I know,” agrees Bucky, recalling the appealing weight of Steve sitting on his stomach in the gym. “Sam, thank you.” 

From Sam’s look of surprise, it is clear this isn’t quite the response he was expecting. 

“That’s just Steve being Steve,” Bucky states simply. Steve treated his body like it was made of some indestructible material. The man just wasn’t capable of putting himself before another in need. “Thank you for getting the both of you back here alive.”

Sam nods once, and they sit in nervous silence awaiting further updates. Bucky waits, anyway. Before long he can hear the deep, even breathing of sleep from the man next to him. When he looks over, Sam’s chin is buried in his chest. Bucky lets him catch up on his forty winks. The wait is excruciatingly long. He wants to pace again, but is fearful of moving away from Sam and the nurse’s station. 

Eventually the nurse speed walks back down the hall past him and leans in. “They’re bringing Captain Rogers out of recovery. You can see him once we get him settled into a room.” She gives him a comforting pat on the shoulder and then is off again. 

Closing his eyes, Bucky gives thanks to whatever lucky stars are above him. Sam had said he’d be OK, but you just never knew. He hears the elevator door open and swivels around to see Steve’s gurney being pulled out and wheeled past them. They turn into the room the nurse had gone into before. He gives Sam a nudge on the knee to wake him. 

“We’re up,” he declares when Sam wakes with a startled snort, and offers him a hand up. 

Sam takes it and heaves himself to his feet. He doesn’t ask; probably doesn’t need to, because the relieved look on Bucky’s face tells him everything he needs to know. 

-

There is more waiting to be suffered through at Steve’s bedside. Waiting for the drugs to wear off and for Steve to wake up and set those baby blues on him. The doctor had been in when both he and Sam were there, telling them that surgery went well, that Captain Rogers had already been awake but was now sedated, and would be fine with some rest. Bucky had then forced Sam to go into the next room over and crash on the bed. Sam had obliged him without objection. 

Then T’Challa had been in, and it meant a great deal to Bucky that he’d made the trip in the middle of the night. Though they talked frequently by phone or text, with all of his responsibilities as King, T’Challa didn’t spend much time physically at the compound. He had come for this, and pledged to be back in the morning, when Steve was conscious. 

Now once again alone, Bucky sits, watching the sleeping figure next to him. There are abrasions covering parts of Steve too, but he’s here. Alive. Bucky’s thoughts are a churning mess, a turmoil inside his head. He’d come so close to losing him again. That feeling of dread had been paralyzing. What would he have done if Steve had died? 

He starts to understand more now, what Steve had said to him after the whole catastrophe with Tony Stark had happened, and they were on their way here with T’Challa. That conversation they’d had on the jet. 

T’Challa had given them a modicum of privacy by staying up in the cockpit, even when on autopilot. Or maybe he was dealing with his own state of emotion. Deciding to turn in Zemo instead of killing him—that had taken a level of self-control Bucky isn’t sure he would have been able to exhibit. Admirable. And deciding to help two people you previously were intent on taking down? He had to admit, the Black Panther was an intriguing man. 

So T’Challa had stayed up front, leaving Bucky and Steve to their own devices for a while. At first, Bucky couldn’t look Steve in the eye, his guilt was so all-consuming. His shame over the killing of Howard Stark was hard enough to bear alone, without admitting his crime to Steve. He knows he has hurt him by not confiding in him, but how do you share those things you’d rather lock away and bury in your own mind forever? 

“I know why you couldn’t tell me about Tony’s parents,” Steve whispers. They are sitting closely together, side by side on a bench running the length of the wall of the jet, knees almost touching. Bucky can’t just clam up now the way he wants to. He owes Steve some answers, but that means first addressing some pretty dark and scary parts of himself. Bucky feels like all of the air around him is black with pain and regret, and to enter that space is to take on some of that burden. Steve tries to push into that space anyway. 

“But it’s not your fault,” he pronounces, and sure, it sounds so easy, just wash your hands of all the horrific deeds you’ve done, for years and years. Just let go of it. Not your responsibility. He feels himself shaking his head. 

Steve’s voice is low and urgent. “It’s _not._ ” 

There’s just so much Steve didn’t know yet. So much killing. Bucky still stares down at the floor, mute. He fears if he opens his mouth to speak, to really talk to the one person who knew him, who knew his heart before he became the Winter Soldier ghost story, the sobs might come instead, and he might not be able to stop them. So much grief he’s never been able to express, not properly. HYDRA saw to that. He can’t expose Steve to it. He _won’t._ “Steve,” he croaks out, able to manage just that single word before succumbing. 

Hot tears well up in his eyes and he is unable to prevent some from running silently down his cheeks. Out of his peripheral vision he sees Steve make some sort of small movement next to him; he doesn’t seem to want to force any physical contact. 

“Bucky,” and he can hear the break in Steve’s voice. “We looked for you…after Washington. Sam and I. Why didn’t you come and find me?”

Bucky lifts his face a little, staring at Steve’s chest instead of his feet. His uniform is filthy, stained and scuffed and covered with dust. They are both filthy, and who’s fault is that? _Mine._ “If you know why I didn’t tell you about Stark’s parents, you know why I didn’t find you. I was a mess after Washington! I didn’t know my ass from a hole in the ground after seeing you. I didn’t know if I’d turn violent, or hurt you, or…” 

He leaves the rest unsaid and falls silent. In the beginning, that was the truth. Of course he knew Steve had been searching for him. In one way he was thankful for it. On his darkest days, he at least knew that his friend still cared for him, didn’t just see him as a monster. However, memories of his previous life were so spotty and so painful, and he was still fighting off the last vestiges of HYDRA’s mind control. Letting Steve find him had not been a choice he could live with. 

Steve stays silent for a moment, too. “Two years, Bucky. You’ve been hiding for _two years._ Maybe that’s why you stayed away at first. But it’s not why you stayed away in the end.”

Damnit all, when did Steve become so perceptive? Bucky turns his head away to stare at the wall. _Just say it._ “OK, it’s not. It’s because… I’m a _killer._ An assassin. I’ve done awful things. I can’t just waltz back into your life and bring all that with me.” The anguish in his voice is unmistakable. 

Steve is trying to cut into his speech to argue, and Bucky won’t let him. He’s got to get it out, while the words are there. “I don’t deserve to have a normal life now. To be a part of your life. You’re giving up too much for me, Steve.”

A few more tears leak out, and by now Bucky doesn’t care. Let them. It’s almost a relief to be able to tell Steve what he’s feeling, rather than let him think he just didn’t care about him anymore. 

“I’m giving up too much?” Steve’s voice is incredulous. “I’m not giving up _anything._ I’m trying to undo some of the damage HYDRA caused when they took you and made you into something you’re not. I’m trying to fill the hole in my life that was made the day I lost you. Nothing was the same without you, Buck. I wasn’t the same. And ever since I woke up from that ice, I’ve missed you. Every day.” 

Bucky risks looking back at Steve’s face now, and sees that he is just as destroyed as Bucky is. The hurt is written so plainly across it, there may as well be a neon sign. And Bucky just wants them both not to hurt anymore. Just to make it stop. That’s all. He’s tired of running, tired of fighting. Steve had a hole to fill? Well, so did Bucky. His life was a jigsaw puzzle, with some of the pieces torn to shreds, and some stolen from the pile altogether. 

At that moment, all he wanted was to feel safe. He wanted both of them to have some space and time; time to heal, time to spend together away from the rest of the awful world. He thought when Steve found him during the war and broke him out of that HYDRA hell hole, he’d gotten his best friend back. But it was more than that. Steve was like a missing piece of him, a piece that made him feel complete, and happy in a way that no one else ever did. 

He looks down, brought out of his reverie and back to the present. Now he starts to realize just how he really wants and needs Steve to fit into that jigsaw puzzle. He is stroking Steve’s arm with his metal hand, comforting him without conscious effort to do so. 

He gazes at Steve’s face, peaceful in slumber, and slides his hand up to caress the soft skin of his cheek. His facial structure didn’t change with the serum, yet seems more delicate now, despite the gain in size and weight. Every feature is perfect. It feels perfect to be touching him. And yet, he feels none of the hormonally charged urges. All he feels is… _Oh my God._

It hits him like a blow to the chest from Thor’s hammer. He whispers it quietly, to himself and to the man at his side. “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda short chapter, but important. Next one is extra long. :-) Thanks for reading!


	5. Apple Pie and Steve's Pecs Make Everything Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky, Sam and Steve get to spend some quality time together while Steve is healing up. Bucky has a rough day. Therapy didn't go well, he's still too chicken to tell Steve how he feels, and he thinks Steve is being secretive, too. Apple pie helps. So do Steve's pecs.

Chapter Five

He wakes from a fitful napping state, eyes bleary. Time: 5:17 AM. Every time the injured man next to him shifts in his sleep and makes a sound, Bucky wakes. This time Steve is stirring and may be waking up for real. Bucky’s plan of action is simple; he has absolutely no plan of action at this point other than to be there for Steve in whatever way he needs. 

Super soldier or not, he’s going to need some recovery time, and Bucky is not going to put undue stress on him. Like, say, by declaring undying love. Especially since he has NO IDEA how that information might be received. As far as he knows, Steve wants to have a relationship with Sharon. So he’s got to keep his trap shut. He tells himself this is in Steve’s best interest. It’s not because he’s afraid to tell him. Certainly not. 

Slowly, Steve’s eyes open and he takes in his surroundings—hospital gown, hospital bed, unfamiliar room. Then his eyes come to rest on Bucky, who gives him an encouraging smile. 

“Hey.” _Ooh, Bucky that was smooth._ Suddenly he feels a bit tongue-tied, unsure of how he should behave. Fortunately, Steve is too out of it to notice any trouble he’s having. 

“What happened?” Steve’s voice is groggy.

“You were being a punk, that’s what happened.” OK, so Bucky still knows sort of how to behave. If giving Steve a hard time is included in that. But he also continues to smile when he says it, and a slow smile spreads across Steve’s face in return. 

“Jerk.”

“What do you remember? You were hurt on a mission.”

Steve’s eyes look far away as he thinks, and his mouth is serious. “There was an explosion. Sam and I were walking out of the hot zone afterwards. Is he OK?” His eyes snap into focus as he remembers. 

Bucky holds up a hand to calm him. “Yes, he’s OK. You’re going to be OK too, if you ever realize you’re not immortal.” He can’t help himself, getting in a little bit of scolding. 

“Yes, ma.”

Bucky scowls. _Low blow, Rogers._

Then Steve _really_ smiles at him, with his eyes as well as his mouth, a smile so full of affection that Bucky feels his heart flutter, and all is forgiven. Steve tries to laugh, too, but then groans and reaches a hand for his injured side. 

“Gonna have to lay off the punching bags for a while, pal.” This isn’t so bad. He can talk to Steve and not lose it. 

Steve tries to unsuccessfully smother a yawn. “What time is it?”

“Time for you to go back to sleep.”

“Don’t have to baby me,” he grumbles, but his eyelids are already drooping and his head has fallen back on his pillow. Bucky settles back into his chair. Staying next to Steve’s side, knowing that Steve is safe? This waiting he doesn’t mind. 

-

Emboldened by a successful one minute conversation with Steve that does NOT result in a hard-on, Bucky elects to try option six as a way of dealing with his new-found feelings: just don’t touch Steve. Maintain a safe, minimum distance. Say…three feet. It’s doable. After all, unlike a normal person recovering from a shrapnel wound, Steve doesn’t need much physical assistance, or to be “babied”, as he puts it. In just a couple of days he is getting around pretty well.

Bucky did insist that his de-programming therapy be put on hold until Steve is whole again. They were nearing the end, which meant actually voicing strings of the Russian code words that were meant to activate his programming. So far, Bucky has not snapped back into Winter Soldier mode fully, but there have been a few close calls. In case that does happen, the only person he trusts to stop him without killing him is Steve, and he is unwilling to risk his health while in recovery. 

So, with Bucky not going to therapy and Steve not going on any missions, they have lengthy stretches of time together. Bucky doesn’t mind this at all. He has been filling some of the time by taking Steve, or Steve and Sam, to his favorite spot in the atrium. It is one of the few places they can go to feel like they are outside, to feel the sun on their faces without worrying about satellite surveillance. 

The atrium is a large building with a high ceiling made of panels of wavy glass, which will distort any image taken from outside. The meandering pathways are lined with stone, and lush greenery surrounds everything. Best of all, unlike the courtyard inside the Ring, the climate is controlled, and is comfortable even with the hot African sun beating down. 

Bucky’s favorite place is near a picturesque, stone waterfall feature. There are wooden benches and a small, grassy area. For him, the sound of the trickling water provides a peaceful background noise. 

Today, he and Sam are engaged in a few rounds of two-handed euchre. Sam holds his cards with his undamaged hand and plucks out cards to play with the free fingertips of his casted arm. 

“So, do you get cramps in it?”

Bucky looks up as he is organizing his cards by suit. “Get cramps in what?”

“You know, the new arm. Because it would be pretty funny if T’Challa programmed in some random muscle cramps.” 

“You are one weird guy, Sam.” Bucky shakes his head.

Sam leads off the hand with some weak-ass trump that Bucky takes. “Does it ever itch?” 

“No.” 

Sam frowns, like he thinks the arm _should_ itch. “What about falling asleep? Does your metal arm ever fall asleep?”

“What? No.” 

“Because if you ever need me to give it a few good whacks to wake it up, I would be willing to do that for you.”

Bucky playfully points down to the ground. “Down, boy.” 

There is a mischievous glint in Sam’s eye. “In fact, we could practice right now if you want. I still have one good arm.”

Bucky snorts. “That’s…such a generous offer.” 

“Well, I am a team player,” Sam deadpans, pretending to preen. 

“Shut up and play cards, team player.” 

“Maybe we should put your hand in a bowl of cold water and see if it makes you want to pee?”

Bucky just shakes his head. “If I wake up one day with my hand in a bowl of water, there _will_ be a declaration of war, Falcon.” 

Sam only laughs; Bucky suspects he has been trying to distract him, because he quickly takes the remaining tricks. _Pay attention, Bucky._ Playing cards with Sam is serious business. Losing to Sam is sacrilege. He glances over at Steve, who has eschewed the benches and is stretched out on the grass on his back, feet crossed at the ankles, looking delectable. 

Steve’s legs are long, and the expansiveness of his chest, arms and thighs is easily traceable through his clothing. He is holding a paperback crossword puzzle book above his face, shading the scattered patches of sunlight from his eyes. Bucky envisages ripping the book out of his hands, climbing on top of that body, and rubbing a very excitable part of himself up and down against Steve’s pelvis. _Three feet. Three feet distance. Yeah._

“What’s a seven letter word for ‘flexible pastime’?”

“Fucking,” Bucky blurts out, before he can stop himself. Wow, that wasn’t Freudian, or anything. Sam chortles out loud. 

Steve tilts his book and regards Bucky through squinty eyes. “Unless crossword puzzles have changed a lot, I don’t think they’re putting in swear words.” 

“But it does fit,” argues Sam, carelessly whipping down his right bower. 

Bucky groans. Sam just took his left bower. He sets down his cards momentarily, pulls out a Snickers bar from the depths of one side pocket of his cargo pants and rips open the wrapper. 

“You consume more chocolate than any human being ever should,” Sam complains. “Tell me, after the fifth consecutive candy bar, does it still taste just as good?”

Bucky makes a show of stuffing half of the Snickers bar into his mouth, chewing it slowly, then mouthing the word carefully. “Yes.” 

A perk, if anything could be called a perk, of the fuckery HYDRA performed on him is an incredibly high metabolism. He and Steve both take in a tremendous number of calories every day. Bucky could probably eat piles of Bon Bons and never gain an ounce. 

“I think it starts with a ‘P.’” Nothing if not tenacious, Steve hasn’t given up on that puzzle. 

“Pilates,” Sam returns, and he and Bucky both look away from their game to watch. 

The pencil in Steve’s hand moves toward the page but then stops and hovers there, trance-like. Sam and Bucky both snigger. 

“He thinks I’m messing with him.”

“No, he’s not sure how to spell it.”

Steve pretends to get huffy and rolls away from them. “Think I need some new friends.”

Bucky picks up the box with the unused cards in it with his left hand and chucks it at the back of Steve’s head. It bounces off with a satisfying thunk. Hand/eye coordination, good. Annoying Steve, good. 

“Hey!” Steve protests feebly, voice muffled slightly since he is facing away from them.

“Nice shot,” Sam murmurs. 

Bucky supposes Steve and Sam do feel a little lonely, cut off from everyone they know. Bucky himself, well, he’s been alone for the last two years, so being here is like a party. The other two? Not so much. 

After Steve had rescued the other Avengers from prison, T’Challa had helped those he could. Wanda had returned to Sokovia to stay with friends whom she trusted. Scott returned to the States. He was used to being on the run anyway, and T’Challa had fixed it so he could contact his daughter in secret.

Clint offered to stay, but as they all knew his family would not be happy with that plan, Steve insisted he travel home to see them. No one outside of the Avengers knew where his house was, and even Tony wasn’t such a prick he would turn him in to General Ross. 

Sam had refused to go back as a fugitive, preferring to stay here as long as it took. As long as it took to accomplish what? That was a little more uncertain. 

“Speaking of friends, what’s the word from Nat? Does she know what happened?” Sam queries him, referring to Steve’s injury. 

Rolling back to his other side, Steve faces them again and props his head on his hand. Bucky is aware that he has had regular contact with the Black Widow since their arrival here, and that she and Tony (after a significant cooling off period) have been working on behalf of the Avengers and Bucky to clear their names in the eyes of the US government. 

The only updates Bucky had gotten indicated that work was going slowly, they shouldn’t expect too much at once, and to be patient. Frankly Bucky wouldn’t have been surprised if Stark was secretly working to have him eliminated from the world permanently, but Steve seemed to have a lot of faith in them. So they waited. 

“Haven’t talked to her since before that mission. But I know she’s still in New York.” _With Tony_ is the unspoken ending to the sentence. Steve shoots a look at Bucky, which Bucky assumes means he isn’t sure how sensitive a subject this is. Sam nods knowingly back at Steve. 

“You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me. I’m a big boy,” Bucky remarks. “Do you ever talk to Sharon?”

Sam winces and shakes his head at Bucky while Steve examines blades of grass in front of him like they’re a line of soldiers on parade. 

_What?_ Bucky mouths back. He wants to know. Steve was kissing her, for crying out loud. Are they a thing? Isn’t that something a friend would ask? 

“No, I haven’t talked to her,” Steve finally says, and doesn’t elaborate. 

_Interesting. What does that mean?_ Bucky wants badly to read between the lines and infer that he and Sharon are NOT in a relationship. _Or it might not mean shit._ He throws down an ace. Sam takes it with trump. 

“Damn it!” Bucky curses. Sam has won again. Bucky suspects cheating. 

Sam gathers up their cards and gives Steve some pointed scrutiny. “Nat’s gonna be mad if she hears it from someone else, you know.”

Steve sits up, then climbs to his feet, seeing the card game is over. He tosses the box back to Sam, who snatches it out of the air with his good hand. “How would she hear about it?”

Sam and Bucky both cock their heads to one side and stare. 

“Oh, right.”

-

Natasha is mad. Really mad. Bucky finds Steve in the rec room, holding his phone away from his ear slightly. As he drops into a chair next to him, he can’t make out the words, but the tone is coming through loud and clear. Steve tries to placate her by assuring her he and Sam are both perfectly fine and were never really in danger, and ends with a bunch of other bullshit that she is definitely not buying. 

After more shrill words on the other end of the line, Steve tells her, “The medical care here is outstanding. And you know I can’t do that, Nat.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows at that, but Steve ignores him and ends the call.

“She heard already.” Steve’s face is glum. Bucky recalls the redhead, sitting on his shoulders, elbowing the shit out of his head. Nat is a good ally; nobody in their right mind wants her as an enemy. 

“Oh, you don’t say?” Bucky quips. “So, you can’t do what?”

Steve waves a hand dismissively in the air and tucks his phone into his back pocket. “You ready for therapy?”

“Yep.” Bucky rises, but something is niggling him in the back of his mind. It is not like Steve to be evasive. 

Steve pops up out of his chair, too, and they set off for Bucky’s appointment. Steve has been cleared by the physician for all activity, including body-guarding the Wakandan therapist who is treating Bucky, so sessions are back on. Bucky is unsettled, his mind going in a thousand different directions, and has a feeling this might not be a good therapy day. He needs to be able to concentrate, and in his current state that is unlikely. 

He is nervous in the first place because they only have a few sessions left till the completion of the program. Bucky’s therapist is pleased, but that only increases his trepidation that something will go wrong. 

In the second place, his suspicion is growing that his friend is hiding something from him. Steve is carefully making pleasant chit chat, commenting on the weather, what he wants for dinner that evening, and whether he should go for a swim in the Olympic-sized pool, or watch a movie tonight. He has not commented on his conversation with Nat at all. Highly suspicious. 

In the third place, and this is by far the most disturbing and distracting issue, is that he had another erotic, wet dream about him last night. He’s still a little turned on. And Steve is presently demonstrating an unprecedented amount of hotness, wearing jeans and a navy polo that is pulling snugly across his pecs and deltoids. His thighs fill out his jeans in a way that makes Bucky want to drool. His hips look slinky and svelte under those wide shoulders and narrow waist. Heaven forbid Bucky sneak a peek at his ass. He might lose it completely. 

He’s barely holding it together using option six, in fact scoots a little further away to maintain his three foot safe distance, but has yet to come up with an option seven. 

They arrive at their destination. Steve pushes open the door and strides in. Bucky pauses just a beat, then follows. The door clicks shut behind them.

-

“There are bound to be set-backs, Buck,” Steve consoles him as Bucky exits the safe room. 

All sessions take place in a room that can be locked down and isolated in an instant. Steve and Michael, his therapist, are the only other people allowed in. Bucky didn’t attack anyone, but he was pushing himself too far, too fast, trying to compensate for his earlier misgivings. He was getting too agitated to continue, so Michael wisely decided to call for a halt to the day’s work. It is disappointing, and Bucky can’t keep his gloomy expression from showing. 

“It’s just temporary,” Michael soothes, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses back up on his nose as he holds the door open for them. “We will try again tomorrow.”

Bucky waits until they enter an empty stairwell to pound his fist into the wall in frustration. He uses the flesh one, so he doesn’t punch right through the concrete, then turns his back to the wall and leans against it tiredly. If only this life wasn’t his. No, he didn’t mean that. A future without murder, without torture and hardship, finally within his grasp…it was an intoxicating possibility. 

He wanted that future. He was so close, and yet couldn’t pull himself together today. If only he hadn’t been so engrossed with Steve, mooning over him like a schoolboy. If only he wasn’t in this predicament, wanting Steve but not wanting to endanger their friendship. If only Steve wasn’t so goddamned sexy. A bunch of _if only’s_ cloud his thoughts. 

His disappointment bubbles over into frustration with all of the uncertainty in his life. For the first time in years, decades, a different life seems possible. It was so difficult to be patient, when it was all just within reach of his fingertips. 

Yet here he was…uncertain if the therapy would really work. Uncertain if he would be considered a criminal for the rest of his life. Uncertain if the man he loved had any sort of reciprocating feeling at all, or if he was even gay or bisexual. How could he find out, without tipping Steve off and ruining their friendship? 

Suddenly, option seven becomes clear. Bucky has no control over some things in his life, but this he can do something about. Option seven: find out Steve’s sexual preference. Has to be some way. 

He realizes Steve is standing in front of him with sorrowful eyes, saying something calming that he has missed entirely. “I need some pie,” Bucky decides, out of the blue. 

Steve looks mildly surprised at this announcement. “It’s not even noon.”

“Are you saying there is an optimal time of day for pie consumption?”

Steve grins and starts climbing down the stairwell. “Not at all. Let’s go to the cafeteria and get you some pie.”

-

They are seated across from one another in the spotlessly clean cafeteria. As it is between breakfast and lunch, it is sparsely populated. Bucky has his choice of blueberry, strawberry, and apple pie. He decides he is in an apple pie mood today. Double helping. Steve decides on strawberry Greek yogurt with granola mixed in. Bucky has yet to discover a vice of Steve’s that is unhealthy. The man doesn’t really drink (well, they enjoy a beer at times, but can’t get drunk off of it), doesn’t smoke, doesn’t have a sweet tooth. Surely there’s got to be something? 

_Maybe he’s a secret gambler,_ Bucky speculates, then almost laughs out loud when he realizes the amount of truth to that. Steve gambles his own body, his own life, with every Avenger mission he goes on. 

“Do you miss being around all the other Avengers?” he asks.

“Yes and no,” Steve says enigmatically. “I do miss the sense of family we had. I’m sorry things had to end with violence. But I’m not sorry I didn’t sign the Accords. And I’m glad we’ve had this time together.” 

He smiles warmly, and Bucky feels the heat all the way down to his toes. “Me too, punk,” he answers back, and leaves it at that so nothing too incredibly mushy will come out of his mouth. “How come you haven’t talked to Sharon? I thought you and she…uh, that you two…” he fumbles over his words, takes a giant bite of pie, and waves his fork around in the air as if this has meaning.

Steve shakes his head slightly. “I don’t know…that was kind of a mistake, me kissing her that day. I’m thankful for the help she gave us, but I think I wanted it to be like it was with Peggy, and it’s just not.” 

He scrapes the bottom of his yogurt cup out and spoons the last bite into his mouth. Bucky tries not to watch Steve’s mouth move, because it fills his head with filthy thoughts of what else those succulent lips could do. 

He manages a weak, “Oh,” and pushes his pie plate towards Steve’s side of the table. He arches an eyebrow as an offer. 

Steve glances at the one as-yet untouched piece of pie and smiles. “Thanks, but you go ahead and finish it.”

“I’m sorry about Peggy,” Bucky tells him in a quiet voice. “Sam told me about her.”

“Yeah.” Steve is lost in thought, idly twirling the empty cup around on the table. Then he looks up. “We’re supposed to be cheering you up, here. Is the pie good?” 

Bucky downs the second piece in three bites and pushes his plate away. “Fabulous.”

“Great, what next?”

-

What follows next is a nice, long run around the perimeter of the complex. The wall is solid stone, and high, with watch towers interspersed at regular intervals. All the way around on the inside of the wall there is a paved walking trail with a little bit of overhang for protection from the sun and rain, because apparently T’Challa’s architects are the most thoughtful people in the world. 

They use that for coverage from surveillance, because staying indoors all of the time has proven to be insanely boring. They had invited Sam to come along, but he had politely declined. 

“If I want to feel inadequate, I’ll go talk to T’Challa about quantum physics, or something. Catch you later.” 

So Steve and Bucky run the route several times, without much conversation. Sometimes it is nice just to have a comfortable silence. Gives Bucky time to think about Steve’s earlier words. It’s helpful to know that he’s not interested in a relationship with Sharon, but it doesn’t tell him who Steve _would_ be interested in, if anyone at all. 

When they have had enough of the oppressive heat, they go back to the Ring for showers. As they near their respective doors, Bucky decides to step up his game. ”Hey, I think I’m out of soap,” he lies. “Do you have any I can borrow?” 

“Sure. I’ll bring some over for you,” Steve answers, unsuspecting. 

Bucky is going to kill two birds with one stone- now he can see what Steve is using that makes him smell so enticing. And he can work on option seven. He would never do something so obvious as to wait for Steve naked, but conveniently has stripped off his shirt already when Steve walks through their adjoining door. As per usual, Steve's running shirt, now damp with sweat, clings so tightly to his pecs that Bucky swears it's painted on. He has to force down a reflexive lick of his lips when he sees those pert nipples poking up through his shirt. 

“Heads up,” Steve calls out as he launches a bottle of shower gel in Bucky’s direction. His voice is completely normal, but Bucky is just watching his eyes anyway. As expected, the old, white scars over Bucky’s shoulder garner initial attention, as they do with just about everyone who has ever seen him shirtless. 

Then Steve’s eyes drop down a smidge lower, and Bucky could swear—he’s almost positive, in a maybe-ish sort of way, that his eyes linger for just a second too long on Bucky’s chest and stomach. 

Bucky catches the bottle without looking and belts out a cheery, “Thanks, pal.” 

Steve gives him a wave and disappears back into his own suite. Bucky looks down—it is the same exact shower gel that is in his bathroom. Huh. Maybe Steve’s body chemistry has something to do with it, because honestly his scent is like an aphrodisiac. 

Bucky almost skips over to his bathroom, smiling to himself and humming a wordless tune. Was Steve checking him out? He thinks maybe, just maybe he was. Of course, his interest could be entirely clinical in nature, but it’s a start. Definitely requires more examination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Labor Day! *throws fic into the air* Seriously, thank you to everyone who has left kudos and comments. They make me squee and want to write more. In fact, I added on an extra chapter at the end. :-)


	6. The Truth Will Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky graduates from his de-programming therapy, but his happy day is spoiled by some truth coming to light. And it's not the truth he was expecting or hoping for.

Chapter Six

Bucky is motoring through the hallway, trying to get to the cafeteria as fast as possible without being rude and mowing directly through people. He is meeting Sam and Steve for lunch and for the people who work in the compound, it is lunch time as well. The urgency is thanks to a text from Sam. “Situation in caf. Hilarity. Get over here.”

What exactly is going on, Bucky isn’t sure, but he knows he doesn’t want to miss out on it. He skids to a halt as he hits the entrance and scans the crowded area. Sam waves to him with his casted arm and beckons excitedly from the end of a line of people at the salad bar. As Bucky walks briskly over and grabs a tray, he notices Steve is in a separate line at the grill, and is not alone. 

A perky brunette with a slim, attractive figure is saying something to Steve. They are both holding lunch trays as they wait in line. Steve is gripping his tray tightly in both hands, as if he is worried it might sprout legs and run away. His cheeks are blushed red and his manner suggests extreme embarrassment. He is turned partially away from the young woman, but clearly doesn’t want to seem rude. The woman continues to speak and gesture with her one free hand. 

“What’s going on?” Bucky’s eyes narrow. “Who is that?” 

Sam is chuckling like someone just told him the best joke ever. “Dude, it’s that girl who was hitting on Steve last week. She works in the research lab where they made my wings and his shield. We had to take my wings in, and she was all over him; he practically had to peel her off. Didn’t he tell you?”

“No, I guess he forgot to mention it,” Bucky replies, and turns to watch the two. Hitting on Steve? He feels a baseless surge of anger and jealousy toward the woman. Not that he could blame her—Captain America probably got hit on all the time back home. Just look at him; who wouldn’t want a piece of that? 

At one point the woman puts her hand on Steve’s forearm; he is holding his tray between them like a shield. Bucky wants to rush her like a linebacker and remove the offending hand. She continues to speak animatedly, her eyes never leaving Steve’s. 

Nonchalantly Steve backs away until her hand falls off and returns to its gesturing in the air. As he moves, he bumps into the man standing in line in front of him and has to apologize over his shoulder. Sam loses it and roars loudly enough that it gets Steve’s attention. He shoots them a look that is both helpless and withering, as he sees that Sam is enjoying his plight. 

They are moving through the salad bar and getting close to the pasta bar. Spaghetti and lasagna sound good. “Sooooo…I take it he doesn’t want to go out with her?” Bucky is not as amused by this as Sam seems to be. 

“Miss Octopus Arms? Hell no, she’s coming on way too strong for him.” Sam turns away from his sight-seeing and addresses Bucky more directly as he awkwardly scoops some ravioli onto his plate. “For a guy as good-looking as he is, he’s really got no game. Nat was always trying to set him up, and he never went for it. Sharon is as close as he ever got to a girlfriend, and look what happened there.”

This gets Bucky’s attention. Why would Steve not want to date anyone? Even with his spotty memories of Peggy from during the war, he knows she was special to Steve. He can tell by the way Steve affectionately speaks about her now that he loved her. Maybe would have married her, if things had been different. So why no relationships in the present? 

Bucky elbows Sam in the gut. “And why didn’t you tell me about Sharon, anyway, before I asked him?”

Sam elbows him back. “Man, I thought he told you already! Don’t you two talk about this shit? Oh wait, watch this.” 

He turns back to stare at Steve and the woman again as they reach the end of the grill line with their selections. She is apparently inviting Steve to sit with her, motioning to an empty two-seater table nearby. With a polite smile plastered to his face, Steve points in the direction of Sam and Bucky, says something and shakes his head. He gives the woman an awkward little bow— _ugh, really, Rogers?_ —that prompts another gale of laughter from Sam, and finally gives the woman the slip. 

Sam is still laughing as Steve joins them, looking scandalized. “Hey Casanova, how’s it going?” Sam teases. 

Steve cringes. “Ow, that was awful. I couldn’t get away!” He doesn’t actually look Bucky in the eye. He checks out their trays, and seeing that they are full, starts heading in the opposite direction as the brunette. After they get their drinks and scan in the ID cards that allow them access to the cafeteria food, they enter the seating area. 

Bucky is quiet as he and Sam follow Steve to an empty table and dig in. He and Steve _don’t_ talk about women. For Bucky’s part, that’s obviously because since they’ve arrived in Wakanda his time has been taken up being put through the wringer in therapy, and also discovering that he is in love with his best friend. But what about Steve? Why didn’t he tell him about the crazy girl hitting on him, or the fact that he wasn’t interested in Sharon? 

Could it be because Steve is interested in _him_? Bucky unsuccessfully tries not to let his imagination run away with him. He only catches snatches of the story Sam is telling about a girl he once dated, with five dogs who all slept on the bed with her and took up the entire thing. 

Instead his brain is manufacturing pleasant concepts of him and Steve as a couple, sharing their own bed together. Bucky’s cock also finds this to be a pleasant concept, and twitches agreeably inside his cargo pants. He wonders if Steve always sleeps in boxers and a tank, or if he sleeps in the nude and is just wearing clothing now because of their current situation. Their bodies run like furnaces. Bucky prefers to sleep with next to nothing on, himself, and concludes Steve is most likely the same. 

This, of course, leads to all kinds of interesting images and ideas. Just as Bucky begins to contemplate all of the wonderful ways he could wake up in the morning with a naked Steve in his bed, he realizes that Sam has asked him a question, and is waiting for a reply. 

“Sorry, what?” He waits for Sam to ask again, and takes a glance at Steve, who is staring down at his plate, toying with a piece of grilled chicken. 

“I said, are there any women here you find attractive? From the way Steve talked, you were quite a ladies man in Brooklyn. Are you even listening to me?” Sam teases, unaware of just how much Bucky was _not_ listening. 

“Um,” Bucky stalls, and steals another look at Steve, who is avoiding looking back at him in favor of pushing his lunch around on his plate and pretending to eat it. “I haven’t really been looking, Sam, been a little busy trying not to turn back into a rampaging maniac.” He hopes his humor will be enough to allow him to dodge any further questions of the same ilk, and tries to change the subject. 

“So what was wrong with your wings?” 

Sam looks back blankly for a brief moment, then recalls their earlier conversation. “Oh! Yeah, they’re fine. I just wanted to add more tech is all. T’Challa passes out fancy doodads around here like candy. Figured as long as they keep asking what else they can do, I’m gonna keep coming up with stuff.” Sam crams a mouthful of salad in and gestures with his fork to Bucky’s left arm. “How’s the arm holding up?” 

Bucky looks down at it. “It’s been great.” He is pleased to discover he is not nearly as self-conscious about it as he used to be. He doesn’t even mind wearing short-sleeved shirts, and in Africa, that’s kind of a big deal. Steve seems to respond positively to the change in topic of conversation as well. He actually stuffs in a big bite of chicken and smiles at Bucky while he chews. It’s adorable. 

After tossing back more of his drink, Bucky considers his friend across the table. Steve was very definitely uncomfortable with all of the talk about women. What had he told Sam about his past? True, Bucky did have memories of going out with a lot of girls in Brooklyn, and a few guys too, but back then that wasn’t something you let be known publicly about yourself. He’s pretty sure Steve never knew. 

He wonders what Steve would have thought. What Steve would have done. Could Steve be bisexual, too? Could Steve really be attracted to _him_? He swallows down the lump in his throat as they continue eating. He wishes there was some “tech” he could add to his arm like Sam keeps adding to his wings, like a doodad to tell him if Steve’s body temperature skyrockets, or if his heart and lungs exchange places when the two of them touch. 

Because every single time Steve accidentally brushes up against him, or innocently touches him, Bucky’s body still goes haywire. Despite this, he yearns for those touches now, and forces himself not to lean into them too obviously. As long as he can keep himself under control, he’ll go out of his way to initiate any kind of contact with Steve and his muscular, solid frame. Tingles and skipped heartbeats are manageable. Raging erections, not manageable. It’s an issue. 

-

It is a few days later and Bucky is lounging in the rec room, watching a movie with a large bowl of popcorn in his lap. As it is laundry day, he and Sam both have loads going in the laundry facility located one floor down. Bucky enjoys filling the time watching movies—understandingly, he and Steve both missed a lot in the entertainment sector over the last several decades. 

Often they turn to Sam for guidance on what they should watch or read or listen to, but Sam’s interest in old movies is seriously lacking. The only exception there is old westerns. Clint Eastwood and John Wayne westerns are a favorite of all three of them. They stay away from the old war movies though—some of that hits too close to home. 

Bucky is also drawn to movies from the fifties, as they are closer to the era he grew up in and give him a certain sense of nostalgia. Not that a nice modern blockbuster with things exploding everywhere isn’t good, too, but in his view there’s something to be said for the old style films. 

Steve strides into the room, looking good enough to eat in a pair of camouflage cargo pants and an army green tee that looks like it was custom made to conform to the shape of his chest. Bucky feels his heart rate and respirations kick up a notch when Steve parks himself next to him on the couch and fishes into the bowl for a handful of popcorn. 

“Have you seen Sam?”

Bucky points back the way Steve came and mumbles around a mouthful of popcorn, “Laundry room. Back in a sec.” He takes another glance at Steve’s tight shirt and remembers his laundry pledge. “You got any laundry to do?”

“Eh?” Steve says distractedly. “No, I don’t think so. What’re you watching?” He settles in and puts the whole handful of popcorn into his mouth.

“On the Waterfront,” Bucky says more clearly, having finished chewing. He hasn’t made any other earth-shattering discoveries about Steve of late, and this seems like a good opportunity. “That Marlon Brando was a hunk,” he adds, eyes on the TV. Out of the corner of his eye he can see that Steve has turned toward him in surprise. 

“Hmm. He really didn’t take good care of himself in his older years, though.”

“What? No way.” 

“Gigantic,” Steve says, nodding for emphasis. 

“Hmm.” Bucky is a little disappointed with this news. Sexy Marlon Brando, with those killer eyes, let himself go? And while he’s not entirely sure what response from Steve he was expecting, that wasn’t it. Everyone strikes out once in a while though, right? At least Steve didn’t get all weirded out when Bucky made a proclamation on the hotness of another man. That was something. 

Then Steve lobs in a soft one. “Guess I’m more of a Cary Grant guy, myself.” 

Bucky feels his innards start rearranging themselves inside his abdominal cavity, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Cary Grant—North by Northwest, right?” He’s trying to remain low key, but it’s not easy. Did Steve just hint that he was attracted to a man? 

“Yeah,” Steve nods and continues. “To Catch a Thief, Notorious, North by Northwest. Good stuff.” 

“What do you like about him?” Bucky is eagerly awaiting the answer to this and turns away from the screen. Just as Steve opens his mouth to answer, Sam appears with a laundry basket tucked under his arm, booms out a loud, “What’s this shit?” and the mood is shattered. “I thought we were going to watch Rocky!”

Bucky guards the remote like it is a priceless artifact. “It’s a classic, Sam.”

“Classic, my ass,” Sam grumbles as he sits down with his load of clothes to fold. “I think I heard your dryer timer go off.”

“Ha! Still got at least ten more minutes. Try again, flyboy.” Bucky grins and turns up the volume.

Steve grabs the remote out of his hands, and Bucky lets him because A) Steve won’t change the station and B) Steve is touching him, yay! His hands are warm, and though calloused, they are not rough. Steve has good hands and a firm way about him that leads to all kinds of sultry thoughts of those hands exploring Bucky’s body at length. 

The volume on the TV goes back down again as Steve asks them both, “So now that you’re both here, we need to decide how we’re going to celebrate Bucky’s last day of therapy.” 

Inwardly Bucky both sighs and smiles. Steve is as eager for the therapy to work as Bucky is, but gets a little ahead of himself in his enthusiasm. Bucky thinks it’s bad luck to plan anything before he actually finishes. Steve thinks it is being practical. So Bucky decides to dodge. He leaps up off the couch, thrusting the bowl of popcorn into Steve’s lap. 

“Oh wait, you know I do think I have some laundry to check on.”

Sam laughs and immediately leans over toward the remote, rubbing his hands together in anticipation, or as best he can with a cast still on one arm. 

“Bucky!” Steve protests.

“Move your feet, lose your TV station!” Sam calls out to Bucky’s retreating form. Bucky shrugs. Oh well, he can finish his movie another day. 

-

“I don’t want to plan anything ahead of time—it feels like bad karma,” complains Bucky, as he and Steve are walking to the therapy wing for the last time. Today is scheduled to be his final day, barring any problems, and Steve hasn’t stopped insisting they should celebrate the occasion. 

“I’m not saying we should plan something formally,” argues Steve, “But if we _were_ going to celebrate, how would you want to do it?”

Bucky huffs and rolls his eyes a little, biting back an initial retort of _mad, passionate sex with you._ Steve won’t drop it, so he may as well try and think of something. But what? Watch Sam get loaded while the two of them down drink after drink and stay sober? Not exactly fun times. That high metabolism they both share does have the occasional drawback. 

Being inside the compound has limitations. But what if he could go outside the compound for a while? How would T’Challa feel about that? Only one way to find out. “I’ll think of something.”

-

They’ve done it countless times now—different inflections, different languages, different dialects. All of the code words. And every time, no reaction. Steve’s thousand watt smile could power the whole compound. Bucky feels like a giant weight has been lifted; a pressure he couldn’t define until it was gone. He hadn’t understood just how much that fear had a hold over him. But no more. He would be nobody’s puppet. Nobody’s killer. 

_Freedom. This is what freedom feels like._ Michael is shaking his hand. Steve is hugging him so hard his teeth rattle. And then they are free, free of the little room he has spent countless hours in over the last several months. 

“I’d like to see T’Challa,” Bucky says, still somewhat dazed. 

“Of course!” replies Steve happily, for the King is here in the compound; he seems to have a sixth sense of knowing when his presence is required or desired. 

Soon they are sitting in T’Challa’s private office, a richly appointed room with an enormous mahogany desk, behind which are the floor to ceiling windows Bucky has grown used to. In the distance are mountains with foggy peaks and a tall, frothy waterfall. It is an amazing view. 

T’Challa gives him a hearty handshake. “James,” he offers in his cultured accent, “I am so very happy for you. How are you feeling?”

Bucky shakes his head slowly. “It’s still sinking in, honestly. Relieved. Grateful. Bewildered, a little.” 

T’Challa nods, as Steve turns in his chair to face him. “Bewildered, Buck? Why?”

Bucky pauses, trying to frame his words. 

T’Challa gently interjects, “I think you, too, Captain, are familiar with the sensation that your life has just changed drastically, in an instant?”

Steve mouths an “oh” and nods, too. “Yeah, that does sound kind of familiar.”

Bucky smiles tentatively. That’s it. He hadn’t made any plans for what to do if the therapy worked; it was too painful to set himself up for possible heartbreak. But now…he wasn’t sure where to go from here. 

Steve speaks up quickly, seeing his hesitancy. “You don’t have to make any snap decisions. Except what to do tonight to celebrate.”

It is a statement, not a question, and Steve is smiling that special way that Bucky loves, so his eyes crinkle up at the corners. 

T’Challa responds first. “I agree, you should mark the occasion in some manner. Long term decisions will need to be made, but not today.”

“Well actually, there is something I’d like to do, but I want your approval first.” 

“Yes, James?” T’Challa sits back in his high-backed leather chair and steeples his fingers together. “What is your request?” 

Bucky glances at Steve before proceeding. “I’d like to leave the compound.”

“No.” 

The denial comes instantaneously. From Steve. Bucky turns to look at him full on. Steve has gone from relaxed to wary, with a determined set to his jaw. “Why not?”

“It’s not safe. Remember, you’re still a wanted man.” 

“I’m good at keeping a low profile,” Bucky says sarcastically, and turns back to T’Challa, who so far has been silent. “It doesn’t have to be far away. Maybe you could suggest a place we might visit? Your country looks beautiful—from my window. I’d like to see some of it.”

“No, Bucky!” Steve grows more adamant, but Bucky now ignores him, waiting for T’Challa’s input. What is Steve’s problem, anyway?

T’Challa speaks up calmly. “You have never been a prisoner here. If you wish to leave the compound, I certainly will not stop you. I only ask that you are cautious and keep our security in mind.” 

“T’Challa!” Steve looks like he is ready to argue his point, but since Bucky thinks his point is ridiculous, he calls him on it. 

“Steve, you and Sam leave all the time, so what’s the difference? You’re wanted criminals too, right? We’ll be careful.” 

Suddenly Steve has found an interesting spot on the deep piled carpet at his feet to look at, nowhere near Bucky’s location. T’Challa has brought his steepled fingers to his chin and is watching them both carefully. 

Bucky repeats himself, since Steve has conveniently gone deaf and mute. “You’re wanted criminals too, right?” 

“Captain,” T’Challa cajoles him. “It is time.”

 _No. This can’t be. Steve wouldn’t_ … Steve finally meets his eyes, and the guilt is obvious. He spreads his hands wide in supplication. 

“We only wanted to protect you, so you wouldn’t feel extra pressure to finish your therapy faster.”

Bucky shuts his eyes tight against the feeling of betrayal stealing over him. Steve has been lying to him. And not only Steve…

“T’Challa?” Bucky opens his eyes and trains them on the Black Panther. Here he sees regret. 

“Captain Rogers requested certain information be kept from you temporarily. I did not want to go against his wishes. I am sorry for this.”

Fighting down his anger, he carefully enunciates each word. “What information?” He holds up a hand when Steve opens his mouth to speak. “I want to hear it from T’Challa,” Bucky growls. T’Challa will not sugarcoat anything in order to _protect_ him. 

“Approximately two months ago we received communication from Tony Stark, delivered through Natasha Romanova. They have been working to modify the terms of the Sokovia Accords. In light of all the recent events, I have been supporting them in those efforts. Actions that you and the Avengers took after you were framed for the murder of my father have been pardoned. Captain Rogers and Sam Wilson are free to return to the United States at their convenience. To this point it has been kept out of the popular media, as negotiations continue.”

He pauses a moment to allow Bucky to absorb this, then continues in a more gentle voice. “Mr. Stark and Ms. Romanova are continuing to work on your behalf to have you absolved of any other crimes.” 

Silence falls in the room. Bucky does nothing to interrupt it. His heart is hammering in his chest. Two months. Steve and Sam could have gone home two months ago but didn’t. Because of him. They aren’t criminals any more. But Bucky still is. All of the crimes he committed as the Winter Soldier are still his crimes, and his alone.

There is no going home for him. At least, not like in his fantasies. Not at Steve’s side. Maybe he will never be able to go home. He feels like a fraud, pretending that the asset never existed, pretending he was worthy of having Steve and Sam and even T’Challa treat him like one of their own. And they _let_ him pretend, _let_ him think there was a chance for them all to return home together. 

“Buck.” There is a desperate, pleading note to that voice, but Bucky turns away from the sound. 

Rising from his chair, T’Challa says delicately, “I think perhaps you two should have a private moment to discuss things.” With long, powerful strides he quickly crosses the room and exits, shutting the heavy door behind him. 

Immediately, Steve speaks. “Bucky, I’m…”

“Shut up,” Bucky stops him, anger flaring. “I don’t want to hear how _sorry_ you are. You lied to me. You’ve been lying to me. Why? Why didn’t you tell me when you first found out?”

“We didn’t want to distract you.”

“Bullshit! I’m not that far gone that I can’t handle the truth.” 

“I know that! That’s not what this is about.” 

Bucky crosses his arms over his chest. “Then what is it about? Don’t you think I would have wanted to know that every time you left on a mission, Ross wasn’t hunting you down? Didn’t that ever occur to you? That your safety is important to me, too?”

“Bucky,” Steve says firmly, “I’m sorry for not telling you. I am. But there is NO WAY I would leave you here when you hadn’t finished your therapy yet. The positive benefits of telling you didn’t outweigh the negatives.” 

“That’s not it,” Bucky insists. ”Let me ask you this—my therapy is a total success; no more programming to worry about. HYDRA can’t touch me. But I’m still a criminal and you’re not. Will you go back to the States and leave me behind?”

Steve’s chin juts out about a mile. “No.”

Bucky jabs a finger in the air at him. “That’s why you didn’t tell me,” he says hotly. “You wanted to avoid any discussion at all about you and Sam going home. God, you are so self-sacrificing!”

Steve is leaning forward in his chair, intent on him, shaking his head. “What are you talking about? That’s not how it is.”

“The hell it’s not! It’s your pattern!” 

“What? I do not have a pattern,” Steve says stubbornly, sitting back again in his chair in denial. 

“Oh yes you do. You’re the most selfless person I’ve ever met. Don’t you see it? Putting that plane down in the ocean. Taking that shrapnel for Sam. On that helicarrier, you would have let me kill you rather than defend yourself. You _never_ put yourself first. I can’t let you keep doing that. You deserve so much more.” 

_You deserve everything under the sun_ , he doesn’t add. God, Steve just never stopped giving of himself. Why couldn’t he do something good for _him_ for once? 

“I deserve…” Steve sputters, “Why do you think you’re some kind of burden when you’re not? We should stay together. I’m not going home until we _all_ can go home.” 

Bucky wants to take him in his arms to hold him, and punch him in the face at the same time. He feels a rush of warmth and love for his friend, and then an equal rush of guilt. “We can’t stay here forever. What if I’m never pardoned?”

“That’s not going to happen.”

Bucky throws his hands up. “You don’t know that! And I’m not going to drag you and Sam down with me.”

“Geezus, Bucky!” Steve is agitated, fidgeting in his chair. “You are not dragging us down anywhere! We made this decision voluntarily.” 

“Oh, did we? Because I don’t remember being a part of that discussion. Don’t I get a say, too?”

He’s getting Steve really riled up now, but doesn’t care. Better to have it out. He is torn between his desire to stay together, and to do what’s right for his best friend, the man he is in love with. Maybe the real reason he never made any plans for the future was fear…fear of being separated again. Now that he has finally realized just how much love he has for Steve, the thought of being apart is unbearable. 

But what can Bucky offer besides a life on the run, a life spent drifting through shadows? What would they do, hide forever in some no-name town? As appealing as running away with Steve sounds, he knows Steve couldn’t live like that. 

So he asks another question, this time in a more subdued tone. “Steve…don’t you want to go home?”

Steve is looking at him with those eyes, so earnestly now, it breaks Bucky’s heart. He can see the indecision in them, and it both hardens his resolve and tears open a hole in his chest. 

“Yes, but…I don’t …” Steve falters. “Do you…do you want me to go?”

“I want you to have a real life! You and Sam both! It’s not fair for you to stay.” 

“I didn’t ask what was fair. None of this is _fair_. I asked what _you_ want. Don’t you want to stay together? After everything…?” 

Steve’s expression is stricken. He looks like Bucky feels, like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world, having any other conversation than this one. Here it is...the way to get Steve to do the one thing Bucky dreads, but the one thing he deserves. The only gift, the only thank you Bucky can give for all Steve has done to protect him and fight for him. A normal life. Steve has earned that, and who is Bucky to deny it to him? 

He can’t breathe; it hurts too much. The air has all been stolen from the room, and his lungs feel like blocks of ice. He should have known all this time together was just a tease. He should have known that the only noble and worthy thing in his life wasn’t his to keep. 

Steve was pure goodness. Like looking at sunlight made into human form. There was no way Bucky belonged with him. Why did he ever think that this spot of golden light was anything more than a flitting, transient presence in his life? That he could ever capture that light for more than a second?

Time seems to freeze as he looks into those incredible blue eyes. The whole world is crumbling around him, threatening to eat away the earth from under his feet. Whatever secret hopes and daydreams Bucky had been nurturing with regard to him and Steve being together have been instantly ripped away. Instead of light on the horizon, there is now darkness, threatening to envelope him and swallow him up. 

And then he utters the words that send stabs of biting pain through that wound in his chest…words that may forever change his life…

“Steve…go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me conniptions to write. It just wouldn't be the way I wanted it to be. And I hate it when the boys fight. Cue large consumption of Oreos.


	7. Ultra-Deluxe Baggage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While trying to do what's best for Steve, Bucky has stomped all over his heart. Now he doesn't know what to do. A declaration is made. A kiss is given. But things are still a big, hot mess.
> 
> Edited to add warning: kiss is non-consensual since one of them is asleep.

Chapter Seven

Rising from his chair and leaving a stunned Steve behind, Bucky doesn’t look back, doesn’t want to see what Steve’s face looks like, because that might utterly finish him. He bolts from the office and runs headlong into T’Challa as he lounges against the receptionist’s desk.

“Steve and Sam will be traveling home soon,” he informs him gruffly as he storms past, and because T’Challa is an awesome fucker, he neither questions Bucky nor tries to slow him down. 

All Bucky wants to do right now is go make a hole somewhere and stay there for a good long time. He can’t go back to his suite. Can’t go to the cafeteria and drown his sorrows in a pint or two of ice cream. Surely someone will come looking for him there. He makes a break for the atrium and its quiet solitude, so he can unravel in private. 

But the best laid plans…Sam is waiting to pounce just inside the atrium’s entrance. Steve probably texted him. Fucking technology. 

“What are you doing?” Sam demands. His voice is not angry, more…sad. But he blocks Bucky’s route, getting into his personal space. Though not as brawny as the two super soldiers, he still cuts an imposing figure, and will not let Bucky pass without words. Only Bucky has none. He stares at him. Warm brown eyes, trim goatee, disappointed mouth. A mouth that has been lying to him also. He then finds his voice. 

“You knew,” he accuses, “And you didn’t tell me. And don’t give me that crap about protecting me.”

Sam hangs his head. “Yes. I knew.” He looks up. “That was all Cap. In full Cap mode. He wants to _help_ you. Why are you pushing him away?” 

Damnit, didn’t Sam get it either? “I’m not pushing him away, I’m doing what’s right for him!” Bucky shouts, and pushes his long hair back away from his face with one hand. “Both of you should get out of here! Go home!”

Sam chews his lip, then nods. “OK, if that’s how you want to play it. You know, for me it’s been pretty easy.” He scuffs a toe over the stone pathway under his feet, like Bucky has all the time in the world to stand there chatting before his breakdown comes. 

“Taking a little time out from life in Washington while the situation calms down? No biggie. Hitting those HYDRA bases from this side of the pond has actually been simpler. But Steve, he’s different. So think about this for me, please?”

He pauses and waits until Bucky meets his eyes again. “When I first met Captain America, he was fucking incredible. Larger than life. But Steve? He was a little lost. Didn’t quite know where he fit into the twenty-first century. I’ve never seen him as happy as he’s been in the last six months, and it’s not the missions doing that. It’s _you_. He knows you’re not the same person he grew up with. He knows you’ve got baggage; we all do. Yours is just the ultra-deluxe set.”

Bucky shakes his head vigorously, so Sam enunciates his next words with extra volume. “HE CARES ABOUT YOU. So before you send him packing, chew on this. Maybe he thinks of home as wherever you are.” 

Eyes drop to the floor. Fuck, Sam goes right for the heart strings. Bucky still has the bitter taste of truth on his tongue, though. The facts were still the same. He can’t pretend the fallout of his past isn’t there. 

Sam is relentless. “So I’m going to put aside asking what’s right for _you_ , because clearly you don’t care about that, or have gone insane. Instead, I’m asking you, are you sure this is what’s right for Steve? Really sure? Because I’m not.”

He waits a beat, and when there is no answer forthcoming from his friend, he turns on his heel and vanishes back out through the door, leaving Bucky alone with a hurricane of emotion he doesn’t know how to sort through. Seeking out a quiet spot, he goes to a particularly dense section of foliage and sits down cross-legged on the grass. He rests his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. 

Not a very dignified pose, but it’s all he can muster up. He closes his eyes and tries to think, which is a lot harder than it sounds, because his brain is continuously feeding him images of Steve. 

Steve smiling at him. Steve standing between him and Tony Stark, defending him. Steve on the floor next to his bed, sitting in the dark with him until the nightmare visions pass. Steve in his uniform, showing up in his apartment in Bucharest, just before the SWAT team bulldozes in to kill him. Steve hugging him. Steve’s face just this afternoon when Michael smiled and said, “We’re done. Don’t come back.”

Was it so recent? Bucky feels exhausted mentally. He has no idea how long he has been sitting in the grass when he hears someone enter the atrium. The voice is not near him, but audible just the same. 

“Bucky?”

 _Too soon_. Instantly Bucky is on his feet and moving. He can’t face Steve right now. The atrium is big, probably 50 yards from one end to the other and just as wide. The pathways weave in and out of the tall greenery and don’t allow for unobstructed views. He knows what to do. 

“Bucky?” 

The call comes from further in. Steve is treading along on the pathways, looking for him. Silent as a cat, Bucky prowls, keeping the same relative distance between them. 

“I just want to _talk_ to you.” 

_No can do, Stevie._ Every time Steve moves, Bucky moves. After he has covered the entire atrium and still has not found his elusive quarry, Steve stops near the center. Bucky is several yards out on a different path, out of sight. 

He can hear the deep sigh. “Buck, please.”

Silence. 

“OK. I know you can hear me. You don’t have to talk, but I’m going to.”

Bucky listens. He can do that much. Or he thinks he can. 

“You were right. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to insist I go home without you. Because there was _no way_ I was going to do that, anyway. And I’m sorry. I was wrong to keep that from you.” 

There is a pause as Steve collects his thoughts. Bucky can hear the musical, tinkling sound of the waterfall in the distance. 

“But what you don’t know is how much I wanted to stay. You think I stayed just for your sake, but it’s actually the most selfish thing I’ve ever done. Captain America _should_ have gone home. I stayed because I wanted to be with you. I still want to be with you. And I thought that’s what you wanted, too. I thought we were getting closer, but now you won’t let me in.” 

Bucky closes his eyes. Listening was a terrible idea. God, did that hurt him to hear. _I want to be closer. You don’t know how badly I want that. Don’t start thinking I don’t want you._

“You told me the other night that HYDRA was to blame for everything. Not me, not you. Was that the truth, or were you just bullshitting me? You’re so _stubborn._ Why can’t you see that?” 

In his mind, Bucky can see Steve throwing up his hands; the frustration comes through so clearly in his voice. 

“You’ve got this idea in your head of how things are, but they don’t have to be like that at all. You think you don’t deserve forgiveness, when you shouldn’t even have to ask for it. You don’t have to shoulder all the blame. And you don’t have to do it alone. I don’t want someone I love to go through this alone.”

Bucky is frozen in place, all of his muscles tight with tension. Is Steve right? He feels like such an asshole. Steve is standing steps away from him, baring his soul, and Bucky is paralyzed into inaction, torn in two. His choices suck. Feel miserable because Steve is making yet more sacrifices for him? Or feel miserable because they are apart but Steve is back home where he belongs? He can’t decide which is worse. 

_Someone I love._ What did that mean? He clings to those words like they are a lifeline, because he is drowning in his own emotions. He can hear Steve shift his weight around as he formulates his next words. When he continues, his voice is low, almost a whisper. 

“Don’t shut me out. I’ll go if that’s really what you want. But I don’t want to lose you again. I’m not sure I can take that a second time, Buck. It damn near killed me the first time.”

Steve’s voice grows hoarse and Bucky can hear him wrestling for control. It makes his heart climb right up into his throat. 

“Please don’t make me do this.”

Bucky squeezes his eyes tightly shut and tries to steady his breathing, because those words are cutting right into him like razors. They are the same words Steve spoke to him on the helicarrier. Only this time Steve is walking away from him; he can hear his footfalls growing more distant. He is leaving, and Bucky is going to let him. He hears the door shut, and he is alone once more. 

-

Bucky did his unraveling in the privacy of his hidden spot in the atrium, sitting and leaning against the smooth trunk of a tree. He doesn’t know how long he sat, or when he fell into a restless, disturbed sleep, but when he wakes, the sky above is already darkening, and his muscles are stiff with inactivity. 

His phone vibrates in the back pocket of his jeans. He pulls it out to see one message, and one only. From Steve. “Text me you’re OK. Come find me. Please.” 

Bucky lets his hand drop to his lap, and his head plunk against the tree. He has no idea what he should do. None. He blinks wearily. The phone is still in his hand. Lifting it back up, he finds the contact he wants and texts in “T’Challa?”

A moment later the reply comes back. “Come to my office. I will be alone.”

After rising and taking a second to stretch out his tight leg muscles, Bucky sets off. This time he is more cautious and stealthy, checking around corners for lurking Avengers while on his way back to T’Challa’s office. He is not accosted, and T’Challa is indeed waiting for him alone. He has swapped out his suit in favor of jeans and a black button down shirt. 

It is only then Bucky realizes how late it must be. The wall clock visible from inside the office reads just after nine in the evening. T’Challa, seeing his eyes dart to the clock and back, sets him at ease before he can even apologize. 

“Do not worry about the time, my friend. Come, sit down.”

Bucky occupies the same chair he had earlier. The other is conspicuously vacant. T’Challa shuts the door behind them and takes a seat at his desk. “You must have had a very difficult day.” He pauses a moment, then adds sympathetically, “Captain Rogers has also told me you are set on the two of them returning to the States without you. Tell me how I can help you.”

Bucky’s shoulders shrug and then collapse. “I don’t even know. At first I was just angry he was keeping secrets. Now I…now I don’t know what to do. I can’t let him throw away his life back home. Not when I’m wanted for so many killings.”

“So you are at a crossroads, uncertain what direction you should take. I do believe that in the end, Mr. Stark and Ms. Romanova will be successful. After all, they are both very persuasive, and they do have right on their side.”

Bucky eyes him doubtfully. “Do you really believe that?”

“Yes,” he answers simply. “And you should as well, though I know that you do not.”

Bucky lowers his gaze. He can’t deny it. 

“James,” T’Challa continues gently, “You are welcome to stay in my country as long as you like. When the day comes that you are cleared of all crimes and are truly free, I would welcome you as a member of my private security as well.” 

Bucky looks up in surprise. T’Challa would trust him with his life?

“If,” he adds, “That is something you would desire. However, if there is something else you would desire…” his voice trails off suggestively. 

Bucky slumps in his chair. “That’s just it,” he says softly. “There is something…but I can’t have that.” He says the words to himself as much as to his companion. 

T’Challa purses his lips and shifts gears. “Have you been content here?” he asks. 

“Yes, because I could hide and pretend the outside world doesn’t matter. But it does,” Bucky finishes angrily. 

“If you could find any measure of happiness here, then that means you have not yet given up. Life is still worth living. What you must do is find a way to live in that real world that will bring you that same joy.”

Happiness. The Winter Soldier knew nothing of happiness. Only torture. Orders. Obedience. And death. There was nothing else. Is happiness attainable? All this time in Wakanda, he’s been pretending that he’s just a normal person, a person without bodies piled up behind him, without decades of sins behind him. And he _did_ feel content; more blissfully contented than he ever remembers feeling. But there’s no going back now. 

T’Challa interrupts him as he is berating himself. “To go forth in the outside world and find a new future means you must first forgive yourself for the things that were beyond your control.”

Bucky sighs and passes a hand over his forehead. The words are so easy to say, but how do you make that happen? He hasn’t been able to yet. 

Seeing how lost he is, T’Challa goes on. “When a bomb goes off, do you find fault with it for doing what it was made to do? Or do you hold responsible the people who set it off? You were only the weapon HYDRA chose. The intent to harm was never yours—it was forced upon you. Your past…you must let it go.” 

Bucky crumples in his seat. “I don’t know how to do that.”

T’Challa’s tone is soft. “You do not have to do it alone. And it will take time. The first step is to acknowledge you have a right to a _life._ Not just to be alive, to _live._ Do not deny yourself that.”

Bucky is silent, his head full of thoughts. Contradictions. Self-recriminations. Two years he lived, guilt-ridden and ashamed. Two years, during which he stayed alive, but had no purpose. He simply existed. At the time, it was good enough. Now…could he return to that bleak existence? He would be alone. Without Steve. Because that’s the way he thought it had to be. What if he was wrong? 

-

Bucky leaves T’Challa when his stomach rumbles so loudly, it makes them both jump. It’s been hours since he’s eaten, and he still needs time to think, so he meanders down to the almost deserted cafeteria. Late night easy listening music plays quietly over the sound system. Burger, fries, two Journey songs and three pints of ice cream later, he’s no closer to a resolution. 

He decides to walk off some calories and nervous energy, and finds himself pacing the Ring again, just as he did when Steve was injured. It seems eons ago. He recalls that day, when he was so terrified of losing Steve. And it makes him think long and hard about his perceptions of what’s important, and what’s not. 

It makes him think about how he should stop being a complete moron, harboring and clinging to all of that guilt. He has to choose to live, and as long as he is hamstrung by his past, he can’t do that. As T’Challa said, he must choose happiness, and only then can he find it. 

Maybe he’ll struggle. Maybe he’ll fall down a few times, but he’s at least got to try. And maybe, maybe _let_ Steve help him. Maybe he doesn’t have to be alone. Steve’s words ring inside his head. _Please don’t make me do this._

_I won’t,_ Bucky thinks, and has to see Steve immediately. As in, right now. He reverses his course and heads back to his suite. Everything is dark and quiet. _It’s after midnight,_ he realizes. Steve might still be awake. He slips in through their adjoining door, but is disappointed to find Steve’s quarters dark and silent as well. 

Standing in the middle of the living room, he can see the bedroom door is open, and can pick up the soft sound of breathing. He moves to the doorway. Steve is lying on his side in bed. Bucky can make out the dark outline of his phone on the nightstand, near his head. 

_The phone you never used._ Steve must have given up waiting. _I am such a dick,_ Bucky thinks. Refusing to even talk to his best friend. Is that how Steve still thought of him? Or does he feel something more? Silently Bucky ghosts his way over to the side of the bed Steve is facing and sits down on the edge. 

Just a short time ago, he used the word “love”. But love could have so many different meanings. What are the chances Steve means the same kind of love Bucky does? The words echo again. _I don’t want to lose you... someone I love._

Steve’s face is peaceful and relaxed. Suddenly Bucky is overcome with the desire to feel that tender skin under his lips, if only once. Bucky leans in over him and touches his lips to Steve’s cheek, and it feels so right, it almost makes him want to cry. 

This is how his life is supposed to be; loving Steve, sharing everything with Steve. He’s sure of it. All of the bad things that have happened to the two of them—those were just a prelude to them being together. Steve is still asleep and breathing deeply, but Bucky can discern a quickened pace. Then Steve’s body twitches hard, and a low moan comes from the back of his throat. 

_He’s dreaming,_ Bucky realizes. _No, he’s having another nightmare._ Steve rolls onto his back and makes another low sound in his sleep. And then a word.

“Bucky.”

Fuck. It. All. Steve is having another nightmare about the train. _Well, why wouldn’t he, after everything you put him through today?_

Bucky picks up his hand to shake Steve awake, then drops it. His eyes are transfixed on Steve’s mouth, lips parted just slightly. 

_Just one more kiss. Then I’ll wake him, and tell him everything,_ he thinks. _Just one._ Slowly he leans in again and presses his lips, ever so lightly, to Steve’s. 

Stars explode behind his eyes. Steve’s lips are soft under his, and Bucky’s body feels like a live wire, like a jangling, exposed nerve ending that has seen too much stimulation. It is divine. So much energy, so much power in just a touch of their lips. 

In a split second, two things happen. One of Steve’s hands moves up off the bed and grips the back of Bucky’s head, and those soft lips start to move as Steve is all of a sudden _kissing him back._ Then Steve’s body jerks and he is awake, eyes open wide in surprise. 

Startled himself, Bucky pulls away and leans back, mouth open in astonishment. When Steve says his name this time, it is in shock. The deer-in-headlights look on his face says it all— _what the fuck is going on here?_

Bucky realizes with abject horror that he was wrong. Completely wrong. Steve meant friendship and brotherly love, and that’s all, and he’s just kissed his friend and made it all awkward and weird, and OH MY GOD how could he have done that? He got carried away with emotion and wasn’t thinking clearly. _You got too greedy, and couldn’t keep your lips to yourself._

He jumps off the bed and backs away as Steve pushes himself up to sitting and reaches for the light switch on the lamp. But Bucky doesn’t want any more light on himself right now. His cheeks have grown hot with embarrassment. What’s worse is the heavy sting of rejection. Steve doesn’t want him that way. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and runs. Right out of the room, right out of the suite. He can hear Steve call his name, but it doesn’t stop him. And it doesn’t stop his heart from breaking into a million pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's DVD day! *happy dance* In honor of Civil War being released on DVD today, have an update! I can't wait to watch Steve flex his bicep again. I mean, watch this fabulous movie again. Hey, a girl has needs.


	8. It's about time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve isn't putting up with any more of Bucky's nonsense. Because he's a take-charge kind of guy.

Chapter Eight

Bucky heads for the courtyard. In the dark he doesn’t have to worry about surveillance, and in the cold no one will bother him out there, if there are any night owls up at this time anyway. As he pushes open the door, the instant wave of the cool African night air passing over him actually feels good on his hot skin. 

He can’t remember the last time he felt this embarrassed, and this heartbroken. Steve doesn’t want him. Steve never wanted him. _You wanted it to happen so much that you projected those feelings on him. And now he knows…_

What will Steve think of him? He winces as he heads for a grouping of lawn chairs and settles himself down in one. The courtyard has paved walkways leading to and from several patios with umbrella-topped tables and chairs. There are grassy areas with a few trees scattered about to provide some shade from the daytime sun as well, not that it matters in the dark. 

His phone vibrates menacingly in his pocket. _Oh no._ He considers ignoring it, but the vibration stops short. Not a call, a text message. He pulls the phone out. _“Bucky Barnes you get your ass in here RIGHT NOW and talk to me.”_

Shit. Steve only swears when he’s _really_ worked up about something. _Of course he’s worked up, you idiot. You fucking kissed him._ He sighs, rubbing his thumb over the screen absentmindedly as he debates the options open to him. He figures he’s back down to options two and three—talk to Steve, or ignore everything. At this point, ignoring Steve would be a delaying tactic at best. With another sigh, he pushes himself back up to standing to go and face the music. _Go and be a man, Bucky. Can’t hide like a child forever._

-

Bucky goes in through his own suite. For one thing, he’s got to pee like a race horse. When he catches sight of himself in the bathroom mirror, he does a double take. _Eww. You look rough, Barnes._ His hair is unkempt, clothing wrinkled, and his face just looks…tired. The emotional toll of the day has not been kind. He takes an extra minute to make himself presentable before slumping over next door. How he’s going to explain his behavior, he’s not sure. He’s just going to have to wing it. It’s been a stressful day, damnit. 

When he walks in, he is not expecting to see Steve, fully dressed in jogging pants and t-shirt, leaning over his kitchen peninsula with a cup of—what is that, tea?—in his hands. There is another cup sitting on the counter as well, presumably for him. They are both silent as Bucky makes his way over and slides into a barstool, folding his hands together on the counter in front of him. Simultaneously they both speak the same words.

“I’m sorry.”

Bucky’s mouth gapes open. “What are you sorry for?”

Steve stares back. “No, what are you sorry for?”

“I asked you first,” Bucky retorts maturely, and grabs onto his cup. The sides are hot, the liquid a deep brown. Hot chocolate. Score! He takes a quick sip and lets the chocolatey drink fill his mouth. Steve can’t hate him if he made him hot chocolate, can he? 

Steve rolls his eyes at him. “So what? I asked you second.” He pushes his cup away. “First things first. You’ve been missing most of the day, and then you turn up in my bedroom in the middle of the night? What is going on?”

Bucky lowers his eyes, rubs his forehead with one hand and stares at the mug of goodness in front of him. “I’m so sorry,” he says miserably and honestly. “I was mad at you for lying to me, mad that you would give up so much for me when I didn’t think I deserved it, and I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t know what to do.” He cannot bring himself to mention the kiss yet. _Deal with one issue at a time._

He brings his gaze back up to Steve. His expression is impassive, and Bucky can’t quite read it. Good poker face, really. _Bravo, Rogers._ What is going on inside that exquisite head of his? Is he angry that Bucky gave him the slip all day long instead of just _telling_ him this? Or is he angry about the kiss? Is he trying to figure out a way to let Bucky down easy and put him back in the friend zone? Steve offers no clue, staying silent, waiting for Bucky to continue. 

So Bucky soldiers on. “I’ve been carrying that guilt about my past around for so long. I still don’t know how to unload it. But I want to. And I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay.” 

Steve’s face softens, and though he doesn’t respond, it makes Bucky believe he hasn’t lost him entirely yet. Maybe they’ll at least get out of this with their friendship intact? His heart may have been crushed into dust when Steve gave him that horrified look, but to drive him away completely would be too devastating to accept. Friend isn’t as good as boyfriend, but as long as he can keep Steve around in some fashion, it gives Bucky the impetus he needs to go on.

“Then when you were having that nightmare, I was going to wake you, I swear. I shouldn’t have kissed you while you were asleep and all…disoriented. I should have told…I mean, I feel really badly about that. I just…” he is rushing through this part, trying to explain himself, when Steve interrupts. 

“What nightmare?”

Bucky stops short. Steve is looking at him with a quizzical expression. Maybe he doesn’t remember?

“You…you were having a nightmare when I came in to talk to you.” 

“Why do you think I was having a nightmare?” 

There is an odd look on Steve’s face now and Bucky can practically see the gears turning; he is obviously working something out inside his own head. Bucky goes on.

“You were twitching…and you said my name. I thought…I thought it was about the train again,” he finishes lamely, because Steve is eyeing him completely differently now, and there is a hint of a small smile chasing around his face that he’s trying not to show. 

“And so, you were trying to kiss my bad dream away?” 

Wait. What is going on here? Steve is _teasing_ him? There is definitely amusement in his voice, and why is this funny? Bucky feels his eyebrows pinch together. He lets go of the hot chocolate. 

“Are you saying you weren’t having a nightmare?” he demands.

“I wasn’t having a nightmare, Buck.” Steve leans onto his elbows, getting down closer to Bucky’s level. His broad shoulders seem to stretch over the entire counter. “It was a different kind of dream. And you came in at just the wrong moment.” He tilts his head to one side. “Or maybe just the _right_ moment.”

Bucky is aware that Steve is watching him carefully as comprehension dawns on his face. And Steve actually looks…happy about it. Ecstatic, in fact. Bucky straightens up fully in his chair. 

“You were having a dream about me? _That_ kind of dream?” 

An erotic dream? Bucky thinks back to the darkened bedroom. The low moans, the whisper of his name. _Holy shit_. Steve was dreaming about _him._ He can’t believe it. And he’s _telling_ Bucky about it. But that means… that means Steve has _feelings_ for him, feelings that say I want to kiss and lick and touch every part of you. And when Steve said love, did he mean _love_ love? The kind of love that means I want to spend every day of the rest of my life with you? 

In an instant the whole world is changed. Bucky feels a deep warmth spread slowly through his body; every atom, bumping into every other atom excitedly, creating a tidal wave effect. The warmth becomes heat, becomes desire. Steve _wants_ him? He thinks about that tiny press of his lips to Steve’s and how much even that had affected him. And Steve is offering _more_ of himself? 

Steve is still on his elbows, leaning on the counter across from him. He has read all of the emotions that have played across Bucky’s face, and his eyes are growing darker, less blue as his pupils are dilating. 

“I started having _that_ kind of dream about you when we were teenagers. I just never thought you had any feelings other than friendship until now.” 

Bucky is speechless. Steve, the best friend he’s ever had, could possibly be in love with him, too? Bucky’s mouth is open, but he might have stopped breathing, and he definitely can’t form actual speech. But right at this moment, he doesn’t need to. He pushes his barstool back so fast that it falls over and hits the floor with a dull crash. Steve doesn’t even have time to react to this before Bucky rounds the peninsula and pushes him back against the tall refrigerator. 

Steve’s hands fly up to cup his face as Bucky’s arms encircle him, and then they are kissing, fast and hard, nothing tentative or shy about it. Steve’s mouth is warm, his tongue wet and soft as it presses into Bucky’s mouth. Bucky tilts his head and allows him deeper access, getting lost in that sweet, hot wetness that tastes faintly like hot chocolate, and mostly like Steve. 

The kiss is bottomless. Bucky thinks he may never be able to pull back, may never _want_ to pull back. One of Steve’s powerful thighs is between his, and their chests are smashed crookedly against one another’s. He doesn’t feel like they could physically get any closer than they are right now, but as hard as he presses their mouths, their bodies, together, it is not enough. 

When they eventually break apart, their lips will be swollen and kiss-bruised, but Bucky has no plans for that just yet, because the taste of Steve all over his mouth and tongue is intoxicating. The actuality of making out with Steve is even better than any of his dreams.

His lips are at once gentle and demanding, and the way he moves his tongue inside Bucky’s mouth makes his insides clutch. He feels, rather than hears, a low, wanton sound of need emanate from his own throat. He’s already got a rock-hard erection that is molded to one side of Steve’s hard abdominals, and when Steve shifts his weight a little, the friction is magnificent. 

He decides to do some exploration of his own and slides one hand down between Steve’s legs. He uses his right, not trusting the left one quite that much yet. Steve thrusts his hips forward, brazenly pushing his cock into Bucky’s hand, and Bucky is eternally grateful he used his flesh hand, because as good as that metal one is, he wouldn’t have wanted to miss out on any of the sensations now being sent to his brain. The outline of Steve’s erection is hard and huge, straining against the soft material of his jogging pants. 

Steve groans into his mouth and slides his hands into Bucky’s hair. His breathing is fast and shallow as Bucky palms his cock and rubs over it slowly; Bucky pulls his head back. He has come up with some words to share.

“So maybe now is a good time to tell you, I have feelings for you that go way beyond friendship.” 

“I’m really glad to hear that,” Steve says throatily, “Otherwise kissing you like that would have been completely inappropriate.” One of Steve’s hands has slid down to cover his, holding Bucky’s hand in place over his cock, encouraging him to stroke him. The other has traveled around Bucky’s waist and is resting possessively over the curve of his ass. 

Bucky, who had been layering slow kisses down the side of Steve’s jaw, smiles against it and can feel Steve smiling as well. “Inappropriate is _not_ a word I would use to describe that kiss.” 

The look on Steve’s face as he turns inward to Bucky is positively feral. He presses Bucky’s hand harder into his bulging erection. “What about this?”

Bucky can’t help it; a thick, lust-filled groan escapes. Steve’s cock feels amazing in his hand. “Also not inappropriate.” 

“Good, because I want you to touch me,” Steve whispers. “I want to feel you touching me.” 

His lips are not quite touching Bucky’s skin; he keeps a micron of distance between them as he talks, moving along his jawline until his mouth is directly against Bucky’s. He gives him a soft, grazing peck, asking for entry. Bucky allows more than that; he attacks Steve’s mouth again, devouring him, thrusting his tongue past those willing lips, like he wants to fuck Steve’s mouth with his tongue. 

He reaches up with his free hand, sliding it into the soft hair at the back of Steve’s head to hold him close. The low moan vibrating from the back of Steve’s throat right into his tells him that he approves of this behavior. The heat between them intensifies as Bucky continues to shamelessly grope him. 

Finally the material of Steve’s jogging pants gets to be too much. He needs to be skin on skin. He slides his hand inside Steve’s pants and boxers, and ohhhhh it’s so much better, feeling Steve’s cock this way. His fingers dance over the hot skin, spreading around the fluid leaking from the tip. He pushes his fingers down to the base and pulls back up, dragging his fingers over his shaft recklessly. 

His strokes are getting stronger; he is not being gentle now, and the feel of Steve starting to grind his hips against him only excites him more. Steve uses both hands now to clutch at the cheeks of his ass, pulling Bucky harder against him, until it is as if they are one person. 

His cock is throbbing, still trapped between their strong bodies, but all his attention is on Steve’s. He makes faster passes over Steve’s length, massaging him and coaxing even more blood to rush to his groin, until Steve pulls his head back and gasps at him. His head thuds against the refrigerator.

“Bucky.” He rolls his hips into Bucky’s hand. His thigh forces its way deeper between Bucky’s. “You’re gonna make me come in my pants like a teenager.”

“So what?” Bucky rumbles back. “Maybe you _need_ to come in your pants like a teenager. Maybe I want to feel you come all over my hand like a teenager.”

Steve only manages a weak groan. His eyes are closed, and the look of bliss on his features is making Bucky even more aroused, and more determined. Another few seconds and he’s got him. Steve arches and moans heavily; every change in angle and pressure sets off fireworks inside Bucky too. His own cock is screaming for attention. When Steve’s hips rock forward, Bucky feels the gorgeous mess he makes inside his pants, before withdrawing his hand.

He is dying to get a hand on himself, but before he can do so, Steve has thoughtfully beaten him to it. He doesn’t even need to get inside Bucky’s pants, he’s so far gone, so hard and ready to come. All it takes is another penetrating kiss and a handful of strokes, with Steve’s fingers cradled around the damp fabric covering his erection, before he feels his orgasm coming. Everything inside him twists and explodes. Hot seed spurts out, making another mess inside his own pants, and he makes a soft, whimpering cry of sated satisfaction into Steve’s neck. 

They both relax limply into one another, bodies still clamped tightly together against the cool metal of the fridge, arms and legs twined together. Not bad, for their first time doing anything at all like this. _Not bad?_ Bucky amends that sentiment inside his brain to FUCKING SPECTACULAR. 

“What the hell were you apologizing for when I first came in here?” he asks curiously. 

Steve smiles and shakes his head. “I was kissing you in my dream, and then suddenly I was awake and still kissing you. I thought that I had grabbed _you_ and made that happen, not the other way around. I was mortified. But I was done with the hide and seek, and I wanted you to _talk_ to me. So I tried that text to get you in here.”

So the shock in Steve’s voice and face was really was about his own actions, not Bucky’s. He completely misunderstood what was happening. Could two people communicate less well with each other? He has to laugh a little at that. At least now he knew…

He draws in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I think I’m in love with you, Rogers.” 

“I know I’m in love with you,” Steve answers softly, and kisses his hair, his cheek, his lips. Bucky has never heard words so beautiful, so enchanting. He wants to hear them, and say them, every day from now on. 

He leans in and rests his forehead against Steve’s. “So, about that celebrating you wanted to do? Right now works for me.” 

Steve’s smile is lopsided but genuine. “Forgive me for saying this, Buck, but you sort of look like hell. Maybe we could put off any more celebrating until tomorrow, after you’ve gotten some shut-eye?”

“Who needs shut-eye?” But Bucky stifles a yawn, and that prompts Steve to unwind his arms from around him. 

“And we both need to clean up a little.” Steve eyes him in a way that makes Bucky hungry for round two. “Why don’t you come back in here after you change? I sort of…don’t want to be alone. My bed is plenty big enough for both of us to sleep in.”

“You mean you only want to sleep?” Bucky grins and looks down in the general direction of Steve’s groin, making Steve actually _blush._ He can’t resist a jibe, even though he knows Steve will want to take things slowly. Bucky will take things at whatever pace he wants to take them, no if’s, and’s, or but’s. 

Steve smiles back though, and has to laugh at Bucky’s single-mindedness. “Yes, sleep. We’ll have plenty of time together, right?” Then he pulls Bucky back in tight against his chest and says in a more serious tone, “We’ll have _all_ the time together we want, won’t we?” 

He locks eyes with him, and Bucky feels a bit short of breath, lost in the intensity of that gaze. Steve’s arms around his wide, muscled back are strong and comforting, and it feels natural for Bucky to wrap his arms around Steve’s waist and slide his hands into the dips at the small of his back. 

Steve is looking at him like he is precious cargo, something to be cherished and adored. Bucky is completely, one hundred percent fine with this and says so. They separate themselves again and he hustles back to his suite, takes the world’s record fastest shower, and races through the mundane things like brushing his teeth so he can get back next door. He doesn’t bother to shave—that would take too long, and who cares about a little scruff? 

When he returns, he finds that Steve has cleaned up and changed, and is waiting for him in the bedroom. He is sitting against the pillows on his bed with his legs stretched out in front of him, wearing boxers but no shirt. Despite his fatigue, Bucky finds himself hardening with desire at the sight. He has not shaved either, and Steve with five o’clock shadow is even sexier than clean-shaven Steve, in Bucky’s opinion. 

Turning the light switch in the living room off behind him before entering the room, he walks around to the other side of the bed. The lamp on Steve’s side is on, and that is the only illumination. The shadows only accentuate the muscular curves of his bare chest. Following Bucky’s eyes as they dwell on him, Steve looks down at his own body. 

“I hope you don’t mind; I usually don’t sleep with a shirt on,” he confesses. 

_Aha! Thought so._ Bucky shakes his head slowly. “I don’t mind,” he says breathily, and peels his own t-shirt off over his head, throwing it down to the floor, leaving him only in his boxer briefs.

Steve’s gaze settles on his torso. He is looking at Bucky like he wants to eat him whole, like he is the most delicious morsel he’s ever seen. The fact that Bucky has a prosthetic arm is forgotten. His eyes travel down over Bucky’s hips, down to his legs and then back up again, lingering over the midsection where Bucky is already sporting another tent in his briefs. Steve quirks a smile at him. 

“Don’t get any ideas now—we’re resting, remember?” He pats the empty side of the bed, then maneuvers the bedspread and sheets out from under himself so they can both climb in.

“Oh, it’s far too late for me not to get any ideas, Stevie,” Bucky purrs. He’s only half joking—he knows they don’t need to rush things, but goddamn does Steve turn him on. He slides in under the bedding and lies down on his back next to him, getting comfortable. 

Steve only laughs softly. “I’ll make you a deal. You close your eyes, and if you’re still awake in fifteen minutes, we’ll do whatever you want to do.”

“Piece. Of. Cake,” Bucky gloats, and leans toward him, hoping for another kiss. Steve obliges him, giving him a soft, decadent kiss that puts Bucky on a slow burn. Stay awake for fifteen minutes? Hell yeah. Steve better get ready for that round two. Fifteen minutes and he’s going to climb that body like a tree. 

Steve puts out the light and lies down on his back as well. “We’ll see about that. Good night, Buck,” he says tenderly.

“Mmm. Till later, Steve.” 

Bucky closes his eyes, but he can feel the warmth of Steve’s body next to his, and sense his presence. There is no sensation like it on the planet. Being alongside Steve and knowing that he will still be next to him tomorrow makes him feel safe, and wanted, and loved. Things he hasn’t felt in forever. 

Steve sidles a little closer to him and slips his fingers in between Bucky’s, holding his hand with a gentle pressure. It feels wonderful. Funny how sleepy a person can get, just after feeling so charged up and aroused. At the edge of his consciousness, a thought flickers. _Home is wherever you are._ That’s how this feels. Like he is _home._

Bucky does not wake until the next morning, when sunlight bathes the room in pale yellow, and the aromatic smell of bacon frying fills the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love these two together. Thank you to everyone who's been sticking around so far, hoping for some porn. :-)


	9. Punk and Jerk Take A Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys have some fun. And by fun I mean pure, unadulterated, fluffy, smutty fooling around. I can't even pretend there's plot in this chapter.

Chapter Nine

Bucky has time to take care of some bathroom basics before following his nose to the kitchen, where Steve is busily frying bacon and scrambling some eggs. Bucky can also detect the divine smell of coffee percolating. 

He kind of wishes Steve was wearing an apron while cooking. It just seems like such a domestic thing to do, something that would tickle his funny bone to see from Captain America. Or maybe he just thinks that would be sexy. Steve, wearing an apron but no shirt, all deltoids and biceps popping out. _Zing!_ The rush of fire to his groin and the jump his cock just took seem to support the sexy idea. 

Steve has put a shirt back on—pity—so the sizzling hot bacon grease won’t get him, but his hair is rumpled like he’s only gotten out of bed recently. He is a tidy cook, having already disposed of the broken egg shells and empty bacon packaging, and he has a sink full of sudsy water ready for pans to soak in. 

When he catches sight of Bucky he calls out a cheery, “Good morning, _loverboy._ How’d you sleep?”

Bucky yawns, rubs the back of his head, and grins sheepishly. “I was out like a light.”

“Me too,” Steve says smugly, but Bucky can’t get annoyed since he has made them both breakfast. 

Serious breakfast. Steve must have scrambled about two dozen eggs and cooked two pounds of bacon, judging from the mound of food. They heap their plates high and sit at the kitchen counter together with their coffee. Bucky is ravenous, and starts plowing through his food. 

“So, what’s on the agenda today?” he inquires in between mouthfuls.

“We’re going out,” Steve replies promptly. On the wood floor, his bare foot taps out a little melody. 

“Out?” Bucky repeats, grey-blue eyes regarding Steve curiously.

“Out,” Steve says firmly, sticking a giant forkful of eggs into his mouth and chewing. “I’ve already spoken to T’Challa.”

“You mean _out_ out?” Bucky perks up. “Outside the compound?”

Steve smiles and nods. “You and me. And we’re getting a ride.”

Setting his fork down, Bucky stares at him. A tentative, “No Sam?” follows. 

Steve shakes his head. “Not this time. But we’re all having dinner tonight with T’Challa.” 

Bucky is flabbergasted at this change in attitude of Steve’s. Yesterday he was dead set against Bucky going anywhere. He recognizes that Steve is trying to make an effort, too. And the thought of spending time alone, really alone, with him holds a great deal of appeal.

“When do we leave?”

-

They are both seated in the back of a helicopter as the blades begin to turn and power up. They have a soft-sided, portable cooler with water and some food, and orders from T’Challa to not come back until they have “worked everything out”. 

“What exactly did you tell him?” Bucky asks over the comm. They both have on head sets and microphones so they can communicate over the noise of the engine, and can open up a line to the pilot if need be. Steve waits until the helicopter has lifted off from its pad at the top of the medical building to respond. 

“I told him we needed a private spot, away from everyone else, so we can talk.” He smiles, looks down and takes Bucky’s right hand in his left. “I didn’t say anything about _us_ yet. We can tell him tonight.”

Privately Bucky wonders if T’Challa has put two and two together already, and wouldn’t put it past the man. The Black Panther is pretty astute. He gives Steve’s hand a squeeze. 

“So where are we going?”

“The pilot will drop us off. T’Challa said we would know the place when we saw it.” 

As they leave the confines of the compound, Bucky tries not to think too hard about the last helicopter he piloted—the one he crashed into a river, with Steve in a stranglehold, clinging to the outside. That was one of the worst days of his life, when Zemo had activated his programming and made him a captive in his own body, unable to disobey his commands. He had hurt people, and was unable to stop himself from hurting people, until Steve had caught up with him. 

He remembers the look in Steve’s eyes, the determination he showed, the desperation to prevent him from leaving. That crazy stunt he pulled, holding on to the frame of the chopper, using his sheer strength to force Bucky back in. _What a crazy motherfucker._ But when he woke afterward, there was Steve. Almost like a guardian angel. And Sam.

It was really a testament to the strength of their friendship that Sam trusted Steve enough to let him try and salvage what was left of Bucky’s free will. What if they hadn’t tried? He doesn’t like to dwell on that possibility too much. He realizes he has been staring, eyes unseeing, out of the window, and looks back at Steve. Maybe he has been having similar thoughts, because he brings Bucky’s hand up to his lips and kisses the back of it. 

“Just enjoy the ride, Buck.” 

Bucky does. Already they are whizzing over the giant treetops of a rainforest jungle. He has never spent much time in Africa, as most of his missions were either on North American or European soil, and the Wakandan landscape is amazingly varied. They pass over the jungle, then head north and circle a wide expanse of savannah with a river meandering haphazardly through it. 

Bucky imagines this must be what it’s like going on a safari, as they see all manner of animal life, from herds of close-packed zebras and running gazelles, to tall giraffes stretching their necks up to reach leaves on the tops of the trees. The natural ruggedness, unspoiled by human hands, is something awe-inspiring to see. 

They leave the savannah and double back to approach a range of mountains; several tall waterfalls shrouded in mist are visible. Bucky recognizes the tallest as the same one they viewed from T’Challa’s office. He expects this to be their destination, and sure enough the pilot heads toward it. They continue on downstream from it for a few minutes until the pilot speaks to them over their comms. 

“Alright boys, ready for the drop?”

They have followed the river’s course to another waterfall, smaller this time but no less grand. Instead of the falls consisting of one long drop, Bucky can see several stone outcroppings that create a series of smaller, more gentle falls. The water is crystal clear and the spray is casting hundreds of tiny rainbows everywhere. At the bottom of the fall is a small lagoon. From there, the river runs lazily onward. Trees grow directly up to the banks of the shallow water. There is no road in or out that Bucky can see, and no signs of civilization.

He frowns. “There’s no place to land.”

Steve grins from ear to ear. “Nope.”

Bucky grins back. This is going to be fun. At the top of the fall there is an area of trampled grass that he assumes has been made by animals heading to the water for a drink. The pilot hovers over this spot and gives them the thumbs up sign from the pilot’s seat. Bucky grabs the pack of food. Steve grabs his shield, which he has brought “just in case” they run into trouble. 

Not that they were not expecting any; in fact, T’Challa had assured Steve that no tourists, no _anybody_ , would be there. Bucky did not complain about the safety precaution, and did not tell Steve about the three knives he has hidden on his person—just in case. 

Unhooking themselves from their head gear, they pull open the door and take the leap together. The drop to the ground is only about 25 feet, so they land easily on their feet. The pilot gives them a wave before heading out. Steve and Bucky both have his contact information on their cellphones, in case they need to change the rendezvous time. Until then, they are on their own.

As the roar of the helicopter fades away it is replaced by the sound of the nearby waterfall. The ground goes from grassy to rocky as they pick their way down one side of it. Steve is leading the way, and turns to flash Bucky a brilliant smile. 

“What do you think?

“It’s beautiful,” breathes Bucky. “But we can’t swim in the lagoon, can we.” It is more of a statement than a question, as Bucky already suspects he knows the answer. The water looks delightful, crisp and welcoming, but under the surface lays hidden dangers. 

“Nope—could be crocs,” Steve affirms. “But T’Challa said we would be able to cool off; I guess on one of the ledges,” he adds cheerfully. 

Cooling off already sounds good to Bucky. They are both wearing shorts, tees, and hiking boots, but the temperature and humidity are both high, the sun is beating down, and even super soldiers sweat. The two decide to climb about halfway down, where there is a wide ledge with a good fifteen feet of head clearance from the ledge above. 

Since it is getting close to dry season, the water’s flow is slow rather than torrential. At each side, the stone outcroppings are exposed enough to allow them to set their belongings down without getting soaked. And as promised by T’Challa, there are no people in sight, anywhere. The only sounds aside from the tumbling water are the occasional calls of birds. Bucky is pretty sure this is going straight to the top of the list of special places he has been. 

“Want to try the water?” he looks at Steve after they have deposited cooler and shield on the rocks. 

Steve is staring at the water with a shmoopy expression on his adorable face. “Ooh, I wish I could sketch,” he murmurs, then turns back to Bucky. “Yeah, lets.”

Immediately, Bucky starts shucking off boots and socks, while Steve just looks at him. 

“What’re you doing?” he inquires uncertainly.

As Bucky pulls off his shirt he chuckles. “I thought it was pretty obvious—I’m taking off my clothes so they don’t get wet. I hate chafe.” 

Steve clears his throat. “All of your clothes?” he clarifies, and peers around as if he expects throngs of people to suddenly materialize out of nowhere. 

Bucky grins slowly. “You shy, Rogers?” he needles. He pulls off shorts and boxer briefs and carefully piles them on the rocks next to their other things. Now he is naked as a jaybird. He already feels cooler without all of his clothing on, but the sun is still hot, and he wants to get under that water. Steve is still standing there, unmoving and appearing pensive. 

Bucky’s not quite sure what the problem is. Steve wasn’t shy last night when Bucky had his hand down his pants. He figures maybe in the light of day, out in what is essentially a public place, it’s a different story for Steve. Growing up as the scrawny kid of the neighborhood, turned down by the Army over and over again, probably led to some of that bashfulness Steve still possesses. Bucky moves a little closer. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he reassures him. “You know I love you, right?”

Steve nods but looks unsure. “I know.” 

“Come on, you’ve got nothing to worry about,” Bucky urges, and reaches out to tug at the hemline of Steve’s shirt. 

Steve huffs out a quick breath, fires out a “here goes nothing,” and starts stripping. By the time he gets to the point of only having his loose-legged boxers left on, Bucky’s blood is already boiling. When Steve stretched his arms up over his head to pull off his shirt, and those streamlined lats and abdominals stood out in sharp contrast to his rounded pecs, Bucky gave up trying to stop an erection from forming. Steve’s treasure trail makes him want to wipe drool from his chin. And below that?

He waits for Steve to drop his drawers, but notices his partner is no longer looking him in the face. His eyes have lowered to Bucky’s half-hard cock. Steve’s breathing has grown heavier; he passes his tongue over his perfect lips.

“Bucky,” he whispers. 

Bucky moves closer still, takes Steve’s hands and places them firmly on his hips, then runs his fingertips lightly, slowly, up the impressive bulk of Steve’s arms and on to his resplendent chest. He lets his eyes follow his fingers, drinking in the sight of Steve’s naked body. His thumb brushes over one nipple and he watches it harden in response to his touch. Despite the heat, he sees goosebumps raise where his fingers roam—even his metal fingers—and smiles, bringing his eyes back up to Steve’s. 

“Let me see you,” he says in a low, husky voice. “I want to see all of you.”

Keeping his eyes on Bucky’s, Steve pushes his boxers down off his hips and steps out of them. Bucky doesn’t look down yet; instead he leans in and kisses him, slowly and thoroughly. Their tongues invade each other’s mouths, but it is not as frantic as their kissing last night. Now there is no rush. There is more time for appreciation, more time to delight in touching each other’s bare skin as they taste each other. 

Eager to map out Steve’s body with both his flesh hand and his prosthetic one, Bucky runs his hands all over Steve’s chest and back. Steve’s hands have strayed as well, moving up over the broad lines of Bucky’s back, then down over the cheeks of his ass. It is Steve who pulls Bucky in closer to him, so that their bodies touch from their chests all the way down to their thighs. 

He feels his own sharp intake of air mid-kiss when Steve’s cock comes into contact with his. Steve is growing hard too, his shaft rapidly filling and expanding with need. It is Steve also who overcomes his reticence and rolls his hips gently, so that his cock rubs against Bucky’s with a luxuriant friction. 

Bucky feels himself go slack-jawed and boneless. Steve’s naked skin against his is just about the best feeling he’s ever had. Steve clasps one hand around both their lengths, holding them together as he rocks his body and turns their fledgling erections into full ones. They move in sync, letting their erections slide against each other, mixing their pre-cum together. Steve rubs it over them both with his thumb, slicking them both up; Bucky thinks he might just pass out, it feels so good to have Steve’s hand on him. 

Their kisses grow more demanding and urgent. Bucky’s tongue is wrapped around Steve’s, sharing a kiss so deep he has to remind himself to keep breathing through his lust. Both of his hands rest on Steve’s biceps; feeling the scorching sun on his back, he holds onto Steve and starts sidestepping them both to pull them under the plummeting water. It feels heavenly, fresh and inviting against their heated bodies. 

Steve lifts his head when the cool water hits them and looks up, enjoying the beauty of it. The smile he bestows on Bucky is radiant. 

“I love you.” Steve doesn’t have to shout over the sound of the water; Bucky can hear the words and read his lips loud and clear. 

“I love you. So very much,” he returns to him, and his heart swells. Steve _loves_ him. 

They are standing sideways under the flow of water so that it hits their shoulders and cascades down around them, reducing the fiery heat of the sun. It does not reduce their erections, however. Bucky looks down, catches sight of Steve’s cock for the first time, and his mouth starts to water. Steve’s length is impressive, thick and purpled and completely ready to go. No wonder it felt so fucking good, joined up with his. 

He is overcome with a desire to taste him, to have that fill his mouth. He gives Steve a look that promises nothing but sin, and turns him so his back is to the column of water and they are just in front of it. He drops to his knees; the rock is a little hard on the skin, but fuck if he’s going to let a knee scrape stop him from sucking off that fantastic cock.

He’s not really sure what Steve likes yet, but is determined to give him the best fucking blow job he’s ever had. That is, if Steve even wants that. He turns his face up to look at his partner. Steve is looking down at him, lips swollen and slightly parted, as his chest heaves. 

“Yes,” he whispers, and Bucky needs no further encouragement. 

Without hesitating, he wraps one hand around the base of Steve’s shaft and takes the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it like it’s a lollipop. The lascivious moan that is dragged from Steve is easily audible over the sound of the water flowing down around them. 

“Oh God,” he groans. “Don’t stop.”

Checklist: Steve likes oral sex. 

Steve’s hands go to the back of his head and wind into Bucky’s long hair, now wetted down to his head. There is no pressure from him; it is a barely there tracing of fingertips. Bucky is free to move at whatever pace he chooses. Slowly he takes Steve in deeper, tightening his lips around the wet skin. He moves Steve’s cock in and out, as deeply into his mouth and throat as he can and then all the way back out, setting up a steady rhythm. 

Steve moans again, a low, sexy sound that seems to come from the bottom of his lungs. Bucky is so hard his cock is starting to ache, begging to be touched, but he keeps both hands on the backs of Steve’s thighs for now, gripping the firm muscle. He knows he is leaking at the tip already, and can taste the same on Steve. 

He hums softly, sending the vibration up Steve’s shaft, and feels Steve’s fingers tighten in his hair as he fights in vain to control the motion of his hips. For a man who was shy to strip down, he has no qualms about letting Bucky know what he wants and likes, and that turns Bucky on even more. 

Bobbing his head faster, Bucky uses his tongue as well to apply greater pressure on Steve’s shaft as he sucks. Steve is getting close—he’s breathing so fast he may hyperventilate. His thigh muscles are tensed up like he’s bracing himself for impact, as he tries not to fuck Bucky’s mouth too hard. He’s starting to lose his control, hips rutting back and forth, faster each time. 

Bucky keeps his left hand on Steve’s thigh, and uses his right to start stroking himself, trying to time it so he will come at the same time Steve does. Jerking himself off while deep-throating Steve does something to unhinge him, makes him want to scream with ecstasy. A tight surge of pleasure starts to tear through his body.

He hears Steve yell out his name as Bucky is hollowing out his cheeks into a long, hard suck. Presumably, he is giving him a warning in case Bucky wants to move before his orgasm hits. He doesn’t. He feels Steve’s body tighten as he starts to come, and hot fluid hits the back of Bucky’s throat. Bucky then reaches his peak immediately, spilling himself all over the rocks below them. 

He feels like his entire body erupts and convulses, releasing his pent up energy. The pleasure center in his brain is on overload and in danger of short-circuiting. He is vaguely aware of the water still raining down, but mostly of how good Steve has made him feel. Releasing Steve from his mouth, Bucky stands. He keeps one hand on his own cock and the other wrapped around Steve’s, kneading and pulling until all of the shuddering aftershocks cease.

Steve is gasping, and pulls Bucky’s head to him for a blistering kiss. After that they hold each other and wait for their breathing to return to normal. Bucky rests his cheek on Steve’s shoulder and hugs him tightly. 

“So that was awesome.” Steve’s soft breath tickles his ear, and Bucky smiles into his shoulder. 

“Yeah, who knew waterfall blow jobs were a thing?”

He can feel Steve’s body shake with laughter. Eventually they break apart and take advantage of the water to clean off. When they feel sufficiently waterlogged, they sit in the sun to dry before they dress. 

Steve has his eyes on Bucky’s metal arm when he asks, “How does the water get expelled? And what if you’re submerged?”

“Wait a sec, and you’ll see,” Bucky says mysteriously, giving Steve a little smile. 

It really is clever, but startled the shit out of him the first time it happened after a shower. Suddenly the concentric rings of metal that form Bucky’s arm start shifting, row after row in a domino effect. As each plate shifts, small motors blow the water out. Each plate makes a small clacking sound as it shifts, then snaps back into place. The entire sequence takes only seconds to complete itself. 

Steve’s eyes are big as he watches, then looks back at Bucky. “That was cool,” he declares, and earns another smile from his companion. 

They sit in silence for a bit, just taking in the natural wonder around them. Steve laments the fact that he neglected to bring a drawing pad and pencil, but Bucky is sure he will be able to reproduce the scene from memory later if he so chooses. Bucky laments the fact that he neglected to bring a hairbrush, something Steve doesn’t have to worry about. He combs his fingers through his still-wet hair to limit the tangles, until Steve moves behind him. 

“Here, let me. I can see better,” Steve tells him. 

Bucky relaxes and closes his eyes, and damn if it isn’t stimulating to have Steve’s fingers gently raking through his hair as he sits behind him on a rock, straddling his bare thighs around Bucky’s torso. _Control, Bucky._ Steve is too fucking delicious for his own good, but Bucky manages to avoid another immediate hard-on. He knows their time is short—and he’ll get Steve alone again later. 

After the pair dress, they climb back up to the top of the falls and enjoy lunch under the shade of an acacia tree. As they polish off bottles of water, fried chicken, and a fresh fruit mix of honeydew, cantaloupe and grapes, they relax and talk about the scenery they have seen and the wildlife they spotted. 

They decide to put off any conversations about the future until Sam is with them, save except for one caveat. They will stay together. Period. No separations. This they both agree on. 

Everything is packed back up in the cooler when the tell-tale sound of helicopter rotors can be heard approaching. Bucky gives Steve an appraising look and stands. 

“Ready to go, punk?”

Steve stands as well and grabs his shield. “Ready.” He smiles fondly at Bucky. “Jerk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love waterfalls. Is it realistic for Steve and Bucky to be getting it on in the middle of an African country in front of a waterfall? Mmm, probably not. But I could not. help. myself.


	10. The Jig Is Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plot! Sam being clueless, T'Challa being awesome, the appearance of Tony and Natasha (sort of), and more smut, because they deserve it.

Chapter Ten

The helicopter touches down on the roof of the medical building and Steve and Bucky climb out, giving thanks to their pilot as they do so. They had texted Sam they were on their way back, and he is loitering at the edge of the pad waiting for them. As they approach, he gives them his patented wide smile. 

“So,” he rubs his hands together. The fiberglass cast has just come off. “You two kiss and make up?”

Bucky turns first to Steve and is amused to see a deep crimson blush start to spread from his cheeks to the roots of his blonde hair. Bucky gives Sam a devilish, Cheshire cat smile. His words had been innocent, but their reactions are not lost on him. 

“Wait,” Sam puts hands on hips and looks from Steve to Bucky and back to Steve. “Did you? _Are_ you…?”

Steve is smiling now, too, while still blushing furiously. Bucky merely waggles his eyebrows at Sam.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Sam declares, but is wearing a pleased expression. “I guess that makes sense,” he shakes his head and turns as they all head for the exit together. “Just don’t be keeping me up at night, you hear? I need my beauty sleep.”

“Sam!” Steve protests. “Give us a little credit.”

“Yeah, Sam,” Bucky adds. “Pretty sure my room has been soundproofed anyway.”

Sam laughs. Bucky ignores the _would you be serious_ look Steve gives him and turns to Sam, who has come to meet them because he has news to share.

“What’s the word, Sam?” 

“Unknown. But your phone was buzzing,” he looks at Steve as he says it. “And T’Challa wants to see us all—ASAP.” 

They are striding down the hallways, heading towards their quarters so they can dump off their stuff. The hallways are wide, but the three of them barely fit abreast. 

“Your phone,” Bucky repeats, “You mean the one that matches Starks?” 

Steve had told him about the phone and message he sent to Tony, the one promising that if they were ever needed, they would be there for him. 

Sam nods and says “Yup,” with a pop of his lips for emphasis. All three men regard each other with a touch of unease, none of them sure if this means something good…or something bad. 

-

Bucky and Steve have showered (separately), changed out of their slightly sweaty clothes, and match Sam in jeans and button down casual shirts. Steve’s is an emerald color that makes it look like his eyes have a tiny bit of green hidden in their blue depths. Bucky likes it, but still wears black himself. Old habits die hard.

They are seated in a conference room similar to the one they were in many months ago to talk about Bucky’s arm. This one is smaller and has a large video screen set up for them on the other side of the round conference table. T’Challa is seated with them, surprisingly in dark pants, white shirt and tie, but no suit jacket. _Casual Friday?_ Bucky wonders. 

They had given him no outward sign of a change in their relationship, but as soon as the two super soldiers entered the room, T’Challa had watched them like…well, like a cat stalking a mouse. And the look on his face was in turn calculating and serene. 

“Soooo,” he begins, eyes twinkling, “Are you both…feeling better?”

Steve’s mouth has fallen open a bit, but Bucky is not unprepared for his suggestive tone. Sam snorts a little into the water bottle he was chugging from. 

“How long have you known?” Bucky narrows his eyes, tone analytical. 

“Known?” T’Challa smiles enigmatically. “I did not know. But I had suspicions early on based on the way Captain Rogers spoke about you.” 

Steve’s mouth falls open farther. Sam, seated across from him, tosses the cap from his water bottle towards the easy target, prompting Steve to bat it away.

“Sam!” he laughingly chides him, before turning his attention back to the King. “What do you mean?”

But the dark skinned, bearded man is not giving up any secrets. He shrugs lightly. “And my suspicions were confirmed yesterday when the two of you quarreled. But I had high hopes you would work it out for yourselves.” 

He smiles at them broadly and Bucky smiles back. _So you did know, you sneaky fucker._ Sam is chuckling; Steve’s mouth has dropped open so much his chin is in danger of banging on the table. Bucky, seated next to him, reaches over and gently pushes his jaw back up with his metal hand, giving him a tender hand squeeze under the table with the other.  
`  
Sam interjects quickly, “Guess you two lovebirds were doing a little more chirping than you realized.”

Bucky leans back in his chair. “I’ve got a bird over here to show you, Sam.” 

Sam just smiles merrily at him, while Steve continues to look confused.

“Gentlemen,” T’Challa picks up a remote control from the table and waves it to get their attention once more. “The reason I asked you to meet me here is for this. You will all want to see this message. It was delivered earlier today from Ms. Romanova.”

With a click, the video screen goes from dark to light. A scene unfamiliar to Bucky pops up. It appears to be a laboratory of some kind, in a loose sense of the word. Everything is shiny and modern, with clean, sharp lines, from the countertops to the computer equipment. The place, he does not know. The person seated in the center of the room on a rolling stool, he does know. _Stark._

He is wearing jeans and a Megadeth t-shirt and is looking beyond the camera rather than directly at it. He swivels in his chair slightly. “I hate making recordings,” he whines petulantly to someone out of camera range. “Can’t we just send this in Morse code, or something? I can draw some stick figures for Rogers.” 

Bucky feels himself stiffen, but Steve and Sam seem unfazed by the insult. Natasha’s voice is both calm and patronizing. “You know it’s on, Tony.” 

Tony puts both hands dramatically on his cheeks, mouths a fake-surprised “OH!” and starts in with little preamble. “So here we are, guys, and while I would really love to reminisce about good times, let’s NOT.”

He rocks on his stool gently, because he is Tony, and Tony is never completely still. “By the way, my therapist said to thank you, because when I got back from our last good time, I put her on retainer for the next thousand years, and her twin daughters want to go to Harvard.” 

The words are delivered in a practiced, offhand way, very nonchalantly, so Bucky guesses that underneath, Tony is still really hurting. He can sympathize to a degree; after all, a brawl between Avengers is a lot to process, much less reliving the deaths of your parents and coming face to face with their killer. 

But he’s also angry with Tony—not for the knee-jerk reaction the man had. Bucky understands that completely. He doesn’t really know Tony Stark as a person, but he does remember Howard. When Steve talked about Tony, he described him as a brilliant copy of his father, but at times more irrational and volatile than his father ever was. So for Tony to try and kill him, that came as no surprise. 

What made Bucky angry was that it reinforced his own belief that he was to blame for all of the Winter Soldier’s actions. It made his own private hell worse, and made it even harder to dig himself out of that headspace. How was he supposed to move on with his life when Tony was there, pointing a very accusatory finger at him? 

Seeing him now, in the present, even in a recording, is making Bucky uncomfortable. He can’t imagine what it will be like to see him in person again, if that day ever comes. Subconsciously he shifts in his chair as recording-Tony continues. 

“So let’s talk about the here, the now, the present.” Tony pushes off his stool and begins pacing the room, gesturing with his hands as he talks. “I’m sure your little Three’s Company situation over there is homey and cozy, and the snow cones are top notch—“

Sam mouths the words “ _snow cones?_ ” at him as Tony turns to the camera. Bucky wonders if the man is always this random. 

Tony holds up both hands. “—so far be it from me to break up your party, but I thought that maybe after I spent all my waking hours devoted to getting your names cleared, or at least some of your names cleared, you would—” 

“We,” Natasha interrupts him.

“OK, _we_ spent our waking hours,” Tony allows, “Although the amount of _we_ in that _we_ could really be debated, Miss I Work Better Without You In The Room. But at any rate,” Tony resumes his pacing, “We thought maybe you would have come back already.” 

He stops pacing and looks directly into the camera, and Bucky gets the impression he is more saddened or disappointed than he is mad. He never considered how Tony would feel about Sam and Steve not returning to the States after this much time had passed. Did Tony have hurt feelings? That would imply a level of affection for and trust in Steve that Bucky hadn’t been sure Stark possessed. 

Natasha breaks in with a soothing, “Tony,” but before she can go on, he speaks again. 

“I assume that means Lefty’s deprogramming therapy isn’t finished, or maybe the snow cones really are just that fucking good, because God knows, it’s hard to pass one of those up. Especially the blue ones, they’re so—“

Natasha butts in again. “Just tell them, Tony.” Bucky doesn’t remember Howard being this easily distracted. 

Tony stops mid-sentence and sits down on the stool, crossing his arms in front of him. “You know, Natasha, I don’t come into your private lab and start making demands. I think we need to redefine the parameters of our working relationship.”

On the edges of his peripheral vision, Bucky can see both Steve and Sam shaking their heads.

“STARK!”

“OK! OK! Just put down the stun gun.” Tony rolls up closer to the camera and peers into it. “Here’s the deal, Three Amigos. Thunderbolt Ross is not playing as nicely as we’d like, but he has come to us with an offer. Apparently, and I know this is hard to believe,” he adds sarcastically, “Our illustrious government has a HYDRA problem. As in, HYDRA is the new Comeback Kid. So if Lefty there agrees to help them with some special ops work, he goes free. No prosecution. For anything.” 

He pauses to let his words sink in. “We can hash out the deets when you come back. If you come back.” He passes a hand over his goatee. “So before you reject this out of hand, Captain Overprotective, think about it. It may be the best offer we get.”

Pushing back on his stool, Tony floats away from the camera with legs extended in front of him. Natasha steps in, blocking out the view behind her. 

“Steve,” she says gently, “I know it’s not what you hoped for, but it might not be just the best offer we get. It might be the _only_ one.” One hand comes up in a little wave. “Talk to you soon.”

The screen goes black after she extends her hand toward the camera. The four men are all silent for a moment. Bucky clears his throat and starts to speak first. 

“Steve—“

He is immediately cut off. “NO!” Steve slams his fist down on the table. There is a cracking sound that doesn’t bode well for the future of the table. 

_Oh good, he hasn’t lost his stubborn streak yet._

Steve swivels in his chair to look at Bucky. “No, Buck. We are not trading your freedom so they can use you as their own private mercenary.” 

Sam leans in across the table. “What if we negotiate our own requirements, Steve? Like, one of us goes with him. Wherever he goes, we go.” 

Bucky shakes his head at that. “Sam, I don’t want to put you in that kind of danger.” 

This elicits another outburst from Steve. “But you’d put _yourself_ in that kind of danger? We don’t even know their real intentions!” 

Steve is giving him those eyes again, the soft, pleading ones that make it so hard for Bucky not to cave. 

“Steve,” he responds, a touch of defeat entering his voice, “It makes sense. They’re not going to give me something for nothing. Black Widow is right. This may be the only way.”

T’Challa speaks up now to offer his opinion. “Captain, all of my intelligence indicates this offer to be legitimate. While you and Sam have done an exceptional job curtailing or eliminating HYDRA’s activity in Western Europe, your own intelligence agencies have been less successful at home. They need your help.”

Steve frowns. “They can have my help.” He points hotly in Bucky’s direction. “They don’t need to expose _him_ to people who will either try to re-capture him, or kill him!” 

Bucky sighs. This isn’t going to be easy. But if he were to be honest with himself, he knew it was coming. As bewitching as the idea was, going scot-free was probably never in his cards. But if the price of freedom was to dive right back into his life as a killer, so be it. For Steve, he would do anything. At least now, he would be in control of himself. It wouldn’t be like it was before. 

“Steve,” he starts out again, but is interrupted once more when Steve sees the expression on his face. 

“I can’t believe it—you want to say yes, don’t you!” Steve is adamant as he stands. “No. Tell Natasha the answer is no. We’ll find another way.” He then storms out of the room unceremoniously, leaving behind the other three. 

“So that went well,” Bucky quips grimly. 

Sam rubs his forehead. “He’ll come around. Bucky,” he then reiterates his offer, “I’m serious. You’re not doing anything alone. If you do this, we do this with you. You hear me, man?”

Bucky smiles and nods gratefully. Falcon is on board. Now about Steve…Bucky looks back to T’Challa. 

“Tell Natasha we’re still discussing things.”

-

He finds Steve in his bedroom, pacing back and forth in front of the huge bed, and has to smother a smile at the behavior so similar to his own. As soon as Steve sees him again, he starts in, and he looks royally ticked off. 

“I am not letting our government use you as their private executioner. And what if they just want to get their hands on you so they can do their own experiments on you? Did you think of that?"

So the battle of wills is on. 

Bucky leans back against the large dresser next to Steve’s bed and lets him continue to pace. “Of course I’ve thought of that. You think I haven’t run every single scenario in my head since the moment we got here? Give me a fucking break, Rogers. I know what I’m getting into.”

Steve whips around to face him. “No you _don’t_ , Buck. That’s what I’m telling you. We have no idea what we’re getting into, so we can’t say yes. Don’t try to change my mind. It’s not happening.”

Crossing his arms in front of him, Bucky gives him more to think on. “Who said I need your permission? If I do this, I want you with me, not against me, but it’s MY decision. MY life. We’re together now, right? Whatever I decide, can’t you support me? Isn’t that what people who are in love with each other are supposed to do?”

Steve crosses his arms in front of his chest as well, mimicking Bucky’s stance. “How can I support a decision that is so inherently dangerous and ill-advised? We have no intel on this. We don’t even know what missions they would send you on. How can you be protected like that?” 

“Don’t talk to me about this like you’re Captain America, trying to control everything,” Bucky says impatiently. “Talk to me about this like you’re my boyfriend. Like we have a decision to make, and we need to figure it out together.”

Steve starts to pace again. “Well it sounds like you’ve already made a decision, and to hell with everyone else.”

“That is _not_ fair.” Bucky is starting to get a little annoyed with Steve’s tunnel vision, but tries not to show it. He knows Steve is just worried about him. He uncrosses his arms and rests his hands on the edge of the dresser behind him in a less confrontational pose. “Steve, can you at least _consider_ saying yes? Then we can plan everything out, every contingency, and make the best out of the situation.”

Steve shakes his head and stops in his tracks, rubbing his forehead with one hand. “Making the best out of the situation would be to say no, and try to find another way!”

 _Goddamnit you stubborn jackass._ “We’ve been here for months, Steve. How many other ways have presented themselves? You are being completely unrealistic.”

“And you’re being reckless!” Steve’s temper is getting the best of him. Bucky can hear it in his voice. Steve never was one to back down from a fight. “Doesn’t it mean anything to you that we’re together? They’ll try and separate us, Buck, I know they will.”

“Doesn’t it _mean_ …? Of course it means something!” Bucky can’t keep an edge of anger out of his voice now. “It means everything!” 

“Then don’t do this!” Steve yells angrily, and paces some more. He _yelled._ Bucky almost gasps, he is so startled. Steve has never lost his cool with him like this before. 

_He’s scared,_ Bucky realizes with a jolt. Fearless Steve Rogers, who would jump on a live grenade and dive head first into a horde of alien invaders; _he’s scared he won’t be able to protect you._ All of Bucky’s irritation deflates in an instant with that revelation and is replaced with adoration. He’s not going to fight Steve. Just the opposite; he wants to comfort him but isn’t quite sure how, since he is still glaring at Bucky like he wants to throttle him.

“I love you,” he says simply and sincerely. 

Steve stops pacing, momentarily confused by the change in Bucky’s voice. “I love you, too,” he says tiredly. “But that doesn’t solve anything.”

“I think it does,” Bucky replies calmly. “I’m gonna let you think about it a while. If you want to talk some more, you know where to find me.”

With that, he walks out of the room and returns to his own suite, leaving a forlorn but still angry Steve standing in his bedroom. His own suite feels empty and lonely. He wants to go right back over and see him again, but knows he’s got to give him time to figure things out. Steve isn’t stupid. He’s actually pretty smart, and his drive to protect Bucky has just clouded his thought process. That’s what Bucky tells himself, anyway. _Give him an hour, and you can go back._

It is one of the longest hours he has ever spent. 

“

When Bucky returns to Steve’s bedroom, he finds him sitting on the edge of his bed, holding his head in his hands. When he hears Bucky enter the room, he raises it slowly. “Bucky,” he calls softly, and all of the anger has drained from his voice; in its place is regret and sadness. 

Bucky goes to him, standing in front of the bed and pulling Steve in to him, so the top of his head rests on his stomach. Steve wraps his strong arms around Bucky’s waist, and Bucky holds him, one hand on the back of his head and one on his knotted up back, muscles tense with stress. They are silent for a couple of minutes, just feeling and listening to each other breathing, while Bucky strokes his hair softly. Slowly, he feels the muscles in Steve’s back unwind and release. 

“I didn’t mean to yell at you. If you want to say yes, I’m with you. Because I love you more than anything,” Steve says, voice sounding far off as he looks down at the floor. 

“Really?” Bucky replies hopefully. 

Steve nods into his stomach. “But I have a lot of conditions to negotiate in.” He picks up his head. 

Bucky smiles gratefully and moves both hands onto his shoulders. “I know you do. And we can figure all that out with each other, okay? We promised we would stay together and we will, or no deal. I’m not giving you up, ever.”

Steve chews his lip and nods. “But I still don’t trust them.”

That makes Bucky smile. “I don’t either. But right now, I don’t want to talk about that. I want to talk about us.”

Sliding his hands down over both of Bucky’s hips, Steve gives him a tentative but playful grin. “You mean you only want to talk?” 

Bucky’s smile widens. “Now that’s more like my Stevie.” 

Steve looks down at his feet for a second, then back up. “Yeah. Sorry I was such an ass.”

“Never mind that,” Bucky consoles him, and steps further into his embrace. “But speaking of asses, I didn’t really get to see yours earlier today.” 

“Is that something you’d like?” Steve’s hands are moving, unzipping and unbuttoning Bucky’s jeans, fingers sure and confident. 

“Oh yes,” Bucky breathes, nodding as Steve works his jeans down and lets them sag at his ankles. 

“I’ll tell you what I like,” Steve begins, then stops as his gaze comes to rest on Bucky’s groin, with a newly forming erection rising underneath his boxer briefs. Steve’s fingers curl into his waistband. His thumbs swirl slowly in little circles over Bucky’s hip bones, making Bucky want to purr with satisfaction. 

He rubs Steve’s shoulders just as leisurely. All over again he is amazed at the marvel that is his prosthetic arm. He can _feel_ Steve through those metal fingers as he moves towards the nape of his neck, feel the contour of firm muscle over his shoulder, the hard line of his collarbone, the soft skin of his throat. Steve rubs his cheek against the back of Bucky’s prosthetic hand, until Bucky picks it up to cradle his cheek in his palm instead. Steve closes his eyes and leans into his hand, and it is more erotic than anything Bucky could imagine. 

“Steve,” Bucky whispers, caressing his cheek with his thumb.

“Take off your shirt,” Steve orders breathily, without opening his eyes. 

Bucky happily complies, ripping his shirt off over his head and discarding it to the floor before replacing his hands on Steve’s shoulders. Steve has opened his eyes again; he leans in slowly, nuzzling his mouth and nose against the fabric covering Bucky’s hardening cock. 

He nudges one side of Bucky’s shaft with his nose and just breathes, mouth open slightly, lingering in place so that the hot breath seeps through the thin material. It gives Bucky goosebumps and a fiery hot feeling in his core at the same time. Steve is watching him from beneath the long fringe of his eyelashes. 

“I like these,” Steve says in a low voice, tugging at Bucky’s waistband. “Way better than my boxers.” He tilts his head, forming his open lips to the side of Bucky’s cock. Slowly he mouths his way up to the tip, closing his mouth over it for a brief moment. Right through the cotton, Bucky can feel his lips closing around him, teasing him, working him over until he’s ready to beg for more. The whine that comes from Bucky is unapologetically primitive, but impassioned. He _wants_ Steve so much. 

Steve’s mouth travels back down the side of his erection, dragging along his length, so slowly it would be torture if it wasn’t so fucking hot. He lays kisses all over his cock, on top of his thin briefs. Closing his eyes, Bucky moans even more urgently, fisting his hands in the cloth of Steve’s shirt. The waistband of his briefs is lowered with deft hands and Steve’s tongue flicks out into the groove where abdomen meets hip. His skin is electrified; everywhere Steve’s tongue touches him is a tiny, wet nirvana. His clothing is pushed to the floor and Bucky carefully steps out of both briefs and jeans, mindful not to dislodge Steve’s mouth from its new position on his upper thigh.

Bucky clutches at the hair on the back of Steve’s head as he sucks a hickey mark into the inner portion of his thigh. His thumb strokes up the underside of Bucky’s shaft and rubs into the slit at the tip. Steve’s hot breath and lips are driving him crazy. Bucky bites his lip and swallows hard in an attempt not to cry out. “Oh, shit…Steve…please…”

Steve’s lips are on the move again while his hand starts stroking him. Bucky can’t stop the helpless whimpering sound he makes when Steve’s mouth finally ghosts over his balls. He’s revved up pretty high, and while he’s not complaining about that at all, he thinks it’s pretty unfair that he is completely naked, while Steve is still completely clothed. He wants to feel Steve’s naked body under his hands, not fabric, so he pulls desperately at Steve’s shirt, bunching it up in his hands. 

To his dismay, Steve’s hot mouth suddenly leaves him, and that’s not what he wanted at all damnit, but when Steve stands up he does at last whip his shirt off over his head. 

“Get on the bed,” he commands Bucky in a seductive tone. 

Bucky doesn’t know where Bossy Steve has come from, but Jesus Fuck is it hot to have Steve ordering him around in the bedroom. He can’t get on the bed and turned over onto his back fast enough. Steve has decided to get naked too, and climbs up onto the bed next to him. One hand snakes down to take him in hand as he moves in and kisses him. 

This is good, too—he likes the idea of Steve jerking him off while he keeps kissing him at the same time. His cock is leaking enough at the tip so that the friction isn’t too rough. He wraps one hand around the back of Steve’s head and parts his lips, allowing Steve’s tongue to plunder his mouth. Steve is good at kissing. Really good. He kisses like it’s the only thing on earth he wants to do. 

And the way he groans into Bucky’s mouth, like making Bucky come is something hotter than the sun, does a lot for Bucky’s arousal level. He grinds his hips up, forcing his cock into Steve’s hand. He is completely hard, and completely horny. Then Steve does the unthinkable. He lets go. Bucky’s protest is swallowed down by him, still kissing him deeply. Steve pushes at one side of Bucky’s hip until Bucky realizes he wants him to turn over onto his stomach. 

As he flips, their mouths must separate, but Steve wastes no time and applies his to the sides and back of Bucky’s neck as he moves in behind him. His lips are soft, laying tracks of kisses across Bucky’s shoulders and the center of his back. His hands tug on Bucky’s hips to raise him up onto his knees. Steve’s huge chest is against his back, hot skin pressed to his, and his hand maneuvers down once again to find Bucky’s cock. 

Then Steve’s entire body shifts downward, and Bucky is uncertain what that’s all about. He is so distracted by Steve fondling his throbbing cock, rubbing his thumb all over the sensitive tip, that he doesn’t figure it out until Steve’s free hand slips into the crease between his two cheeks and separates them. Wet tongue probes him gently until he finds his mark. 

Bucky gasps with pleasure as Steve’s tongue laps at his hole, circling around and over the puckered skin. He thought kissing Steve while being jerked off was a great idea, but this? Steve moans as he licks over the tight skin, kissing and sucking at him, and before Bucky even realizes it, his body-wracking orgasm is upon him. His hips buck and he is coming hard into Steve’s hand and onto the bed. 

“Oh my God,” he moans as he slowly recovers his faculties, head down on the bed, ass in the air. “Where did that come from?”

“I don’t know. I just wanted to touch you there.” Steve says from behind him. “Is that…okay?”

Bucky laughs weakly into the mattress. “Maybe you didn’t notice me exploding all over your hand. Fuck yeah, it’s okay.” 

He swivels his hips so he can look back at Steve. He can see his glorious erection standing tall, and Steve’s hand sneaking toward it. 

“Don’t you dare touch your cock!” Bucky throws out at him. No way is he going to let him jerk himself off. He wants to be _fucked._ Steve had better fuck him right into the mattress after all that business he had going on back there. 

“Buck…” Steve then collapses on his back on the bed next to him, wiping his sticky hand on the sheets. _Good thing it’s a king, or this could get messy._ He turns his head toward Bucky. “But I….I need…”

Bucky inches closer to him, puts one arm on either side of Steve’s torso so he can look him in the eye, and whispers softly. “Tell me what you need. What you want.”

All of a sudden Steve doesn’t look so bossy. He reaches up with his non-sticky hand for Bucky’s ribs, holding him and dragging his fingers down towards his waist. “I want to…you know,” he finishes, with a flick of his eyes downward.

Bucky smiles. “You can do better than that.”

Steve bites his lip. “I want you.” Bucky feels a thrill of electricity roll through him. “To be inside you when I come.” His hand runs up and down over Bucky’s flank, fingertips teasing and stroking provocatively. Bucky is mesmerized, watching Steve’s lips move, saying the words that drive him wild.

“I wanna fuck you. Right _now_ ,” Steve blurts out, and even though Bucky just finished, the words send a hot jolt straight to his groin. Oh my God. He’s not sure he’s ever heard Steve say the word _fuck._ Today is all about firsts. And Bucky is more than willing to give him this one. Steve’s fingers are digging lightly into his skin, pulling at him. He was so shocked, he hadn’t realized he had pulled away, but Steve isn’t giving him an inch. 

Bucky leans in and gives him an intense, open mouthed, deep as fuck kiss. “Well now, this is going to work out well for me, because I really want you to fuck me,” he drawls cheekily. “Lube?”

Steve points to the bedside table drawer. 

“Why Steven Grant Rogers, you little devil,” Bucky teases as he yanks open the drawer and fishes out an unopened bottle. Steve blushes just a little and smiles, actually looking shy.

“Have you …?” Bucky asks, crooking one eyebrow as he peels off the protective wrapper. Steve shakes his head. Bucky thinks it’s endearing, the way Steve can have his tongue on Bucky’s ass in one moment and look doe-eyed innocent in the next. “Then here’s what we’re gonna do.”

Since Steve looks like his orgasm is imminent, Bucky decides to save time and finger himself. He can get himself ready faster than Steve would, and they’re in a rush. This time he gets to manhandle Steve, moving his legs apart and levering himself in between them. 

“You watch me first,” he tells him, giving one thigh a soft caress for reassurance. After slicking up his fingers, he braces himself on his knees and his metal arm on the bed and slides a finger in. Steve’s eyes widen, and widen some more when Bucky brings his head down and takes Steve’s cock into his mouth. 

“Oh, _Jesus_ Bucky!” 

His goal is not to make Steve come, so he sucks slowly, gently, enough to keep him hard while he works himself open. He adds a second finger, and shortly after that, a third, till he feels he’s ready. The way Steve is clutching at his shoulders, trying to draw him back up, makes him think Steve is ready, too. One last, long suck at his cock and then Bucky releases him. Hastily he yanks down the messy bed sheets to get them out of the way, and flips himself over onto his back again.

It’s their first time together, and he wants to see Steve’s face and have Steve see his. His partner seems to have the same idea, for he eagerly reverses their positions, shifting his body in between Bucky’s legs. He lifts them up and around his narrow waist, lining himself up.

“Just…go slowly there, pal. It’s been a while for me, too,” Bucky warns him. It’s been a very long while, as a matter of fact, and he’s pretty sure he’s never been fucked by anyone with a super soldier sized cock. 

Steve pauses and gives him a concerned look. “Promise you’ll tell me if I’m hurting you?” 

Bucky smiles. “Yeah. You too—now _fuck me already!_ ” Steve’s not the only one who can be bossy. 

Steve enthusiastically obeys his command, and Bucky takes a deep breath when he feels the tip of Steve’s cock against his entrance. He wants this, wants Steve to take him hard and deep, and make him his own. Bucky hisses when Steve breaches him, but he does push in slowly, giving Bucky time to adjust to the fullness. 

As he seats himself fully inside, Steve is panting slightly, leaning forward to support his weight with his hands on either side of Bucky’s body. 

“You okay?” he stops to ask, that look of concern on his beautiful face again. Bucky has never been more okay. 

“I’m fine.” He grasps Steve’s hips and pulls hard. “Now _move,_ goddamnit!” 

Steve gives him the crinkly-eyed smile that he loves, and kisses him sloppily on the mouth. Then his hips snap forward and Bucky can see white stars filling his visual field. Steve is doing exactly what he wanted him to do; his cock is buried completely, hips thrusting rhythmically. Steve is riding him with abandon, no holding back, knowing that Bucky is strong enough to take it. He pounds into him over and over and it’s so good, so fucking good. 

He’s hitting that spot, the spot that makes Bucky want to scream, and he ends up babbling delirious oh’s and yes’s, punctuated occasionally by Steve’s name. He squeezes his legs tightly around Steve’s back, letting their bodies move together. Bucky can’t believe he hasn’t climaxed already, as thick and strong as his erection was. Steve’s got stamina in aces. He’s panting again but hasn’t slowed down, ramming into him like he’ll never stop. Then his head is thrown back and he gasps, a frantic, needy sound.

“Oh fuck!” Steve groans out, and his body stiffens as he empties himself inside his lover. 

His eyes are closed as he comes, and Bucky has never seen anything more gorgeous than Steve Rogers, bare chest covered with a sheen of sweat, cheeks rosy, rocking his body over Bucky’s, looking as exultant as if he’d just entered the gates of heaven. 

Bucky’s own erection has returned full force, and while Steve is still embedded inside him, riding out the waves of his orgasm, Bucky uses his lubed up hand to touch himself. He only gets a few strokes in, enough to spread some lube around, before Steve bats his hand away and takes over with his own. 

They kiss again as Steve strokes him, a languorous kiss that seems to last a million years. Steve tightens his grip and speeds up his pace, pumping him like a pro. Soon the coiled up tension deep inside him is released, and Bucky comes again with a sharp cry, making a bigger mess this time, all over Steve’s hand and both of their stomachs. 

“I love you,” Steve says, nosing along Bucky’s jawline and into his hair; he then rolls and lies down next to him on his side, breathing hard. “It’s always been you.”

“I love you too, punk,” Bucky replies, barely able to talk. “For the rest of my life.” He takes a few deep breaths. “`You make me feel like…like I’m special. Like I matter.” He thinks maybe it’s always been Steve for him, too. He just never knew it. 

Steve brushes a dark lock of hair away from Bucky’s face. “That’s because you _do_ matter. And I’m going to keep telling you that for the rest of _my_ life.”

Oh, does that have a nice ring to it. Bucky smiles and takes a few more deep, easy breaths, enjoying their post-sex haze of euphoria.

The bed is wrecked. They are both wrecked. Bucky doesn’t remember sex ever taking this much out of him before. He feels weak-kneed, like he’s just run four marathons. He wonders if every encounter with Steve will feel like this, and fervently hopes so. They’d better stock up their kitchens. Burning this many extra calories is going to have an effect. After lying there unmoving for a while in blissful recovery mode, Steve voices the same thought Bucky has been entertaining. 

“So, do you think it’s time for dinner yet?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, only one more chapter to resolve all? I've been kicking around the idea of a part two, as it might be fun to keep exploring what happens next to the dynamic duo, and how their relationship continues, now that the thrill of the chase is gone.
> 
> edit: Egad! Typos! Sorry about that.


	11. Practice Makes Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The real appearance of Natasha, and Steve and Bucky have more sexy time, because they still deserve it.

Chapter Eleven

At seven o’clock sharp, Sam, Steve and Bucky make their way back to the building where T’Challa’s office is. There is a private dining hall nearby where they will meet him for dinner. After spending the rest of the afternoon sequestered in Steve’s suite, canoodling and relaxing, they emerge and meet up with Sam.

“So I have one question for you, Steve,” Sam states, stroking his goatee thoughtfully as they wait for an elevator. “Do you remember that day we were going down to the lab, and we overheard those two techs talking as they walked past us the other way?” 

Bucky has no idea where this story is going, but Sam seems to be highly amused with himself. Looking past him, Bucky can see Steve on his other side, with an obvious reddening of skin on his neck. Clearly Steve knows what this is about, too, but isn’t talking. 

“The one was saying how he was on the way down to meet Bucky in the pool to see how his arm would handle being submerged.”

Bucky remembers that day, but cannot recall anything out of the ordinary happening. His curiosity is piqued. As they board the elevator, Sam pushes a floor button and continues his cross-examination. Steve and Sam are standing opposite him in the small room. Sam is looking straight at Steve, who appears to be busily examining ceiling tiles for cracks. 

“You said you suddenly remembered you were supposed to be in the medical wing for some test. And you hightailed it out of there like your ass was on fire.”

Sam is sporting a huge, cheesy grin on his face, and Steve has splotchy red marks on his cheeks. 

“Did you really have to be in medical, or did you just want to go spy on your boyfriend when all he had on was a bathing suit?”

Bucky feels himself smiling broadly. “I don’t remember you being at the pool that day,” he says to Steve. 

“I didn’t come in,” Steve admits sheepishly. “I just…lurked in the hallway where the windows look in. I couldn’t really see your arm much, but I could see the rest of you.” 

Breaking down in laughter, Sam crows, “I knew it!”

Bucky crosses over to sidle up next to Steve and bumps him on the shoulder with his own. “Did you really?” he whispers, and Steve nods, looking abashed.

As the elevator doors open and they all spill out, Sam is still chuckling. 

“I’m never going to live that one down,” Steve gripes. 

“Probably not,” agrees Bucky, but takes Steve’s hand and threads their fingers together to comfort him. “So, how did I look?” he asks, half-jokingly, and feels himself blush when Steve turns to him and replies, in all seriousness, “Beautiful.”

They are still holding hands when they reach the door to the dining hall, but let go of each other in order to negotiate the tight quarters. Inside the door there is a short hallway and sharp turn into the main substance of the room.

All three men round the corner…to see Natasha Romanova, leaning against and sitting on the edge of the dining table, waiting for them. Her fiery red hair is long and down around her face. She is dressed in all black, as if taking a cue from Bucky. T’Challa stands next to her, hands clasped behind his back as they talk. There is a small smile on her face that gets a little bigger when she sees the new occupants of the room. 

“Natasha!” Steve is obviously pleased to see her and steps forward to give her a quick hug. When he releases her and steps back, she looks him up and down with a practiced, sharp eye. 

“Rogers,” she says suspiciously, “Something’s different.” She pauses a beat. Steve shuffles his feet and runs his hand through his short hair. 

“Have you been… _practicing_ like I told you to?" Her smile widens to show white teeth.

Bucky doesn’t know what that means, but once again Steve is turning into a beet. He’s gotten in a lot of blushing over the last twenty-four hours. 

“You have!” she says delightedly. “Anyone I know?”

Steve turns and focuses his eyes on Bucky for a moment. Bucky gives him a wink and a smile, eliciting a return smile. Steve then looks back to Natasha; her eyebrows disappear into her forehead. “So that’s why my set-ups never worked.” 

Remembering her good graces, she motions them all into the room fully. “Congratulations you two. Let’s get you boys in here and sit down so we can talk.” 

Sam nods to her on his way past. “Nat, how you doin’?"

She smiles at him. “Hey Sam. Being out of the slammer suits you.”

“Yeah, I told Ross everything was Steve’s fault, so he let me go.” He grins and Steve makes his face that says _whatever_ , as they both take seats. 

T’Challa is also seated; only Bucky lingers in front of Natasha. 

“Hi,” he starts, a little uncomfortably. “So, I’m sorry for shooting you. Twice.” His eyes dart to his feet and back. “And for trying to choke you.” 

Natasha nods at him. “Well, I’m not sorry for trying to choke you. Or for trying to smash your head in.”

Then she pushes herself off of the table and approaches him more closely. “I’m also not sorry to see Steve looking as happy as I’ve ever seen him. I assume that’s your doing, so I guess I’ll cut you some slack for the other stuff.”

Her confidential tone and generous eyes put Bucky at ease, as does the calm way she disassociates the Winter Soldier’s actions from the person in front of her. Bucky likes her immediately and gives her a small smile as thanks. She motions to the table with her head, and they both join the others. 

“I don’t remember getting any apology from you for you tearing my wing off and flinging me off that helicarrier,” Sam needles.

Natasha grins at Bucky and answers back before he can, “You’ve got to be _sorry_ first before you apologize for something, Sam.” 

Sam snorts and pretends to pull a knife out of his chest. “Ohhh, it hurts, Nat. That really hurts.” But he smiles at Bucky.

Bucky isn’t even really sure why he felt like he should apologize. Maybe it was old fashioned chivalry; of course he and Steve were raised to believe a man should never strike a woman. Maybe it was because he knew her background, that they had both suffered in ways most people didn’t. Maybe he wanted her to know he was sorry for it even if the blame wasn’t his. Whatever it was, she understood him, and accepted him without judgement. 

He feels comfortable with everyone in the room, more so than he guessed he would have. Progress. The table is set opulently with fine china. Of course, the catered food brought in one course at a time is excellent. Bucky wouldn't have expected anything less from T'Challa. Once the meal is under way, they get down to brass tacks. After receiving T’Challa’s message indicating Steve’s initial resistance to General Ross’s offer, Natasha had wasted no time getting on a jet and making her way here. T’Challa, of course, had helped to expedite her travels. 

She too is relieved that Steve has done an about face and reversed his position. She does a good deal of the talking at first, getting them all up to speed on what’s been happening at home. They spend a great deal more time discussing their options and trying to come up with a good plan, one that will keep Bucky safe and resolve with a finite ending. 

It is a lively discussion to say the least, and everyone contributes their input; Natasha even makes some notes on her cell phone. Steve wants to avoid the possibility that Bucky would become an indentured servant to the US government, serving in perpetuity. There are a lot of unresolved issues, ones that can’t be resolved until they actually open up talks with Ross. Natasha promises that she and Tony will act as intermediaries and relay necessary information so that Bucky is still protected and hidden for the moment. Steve had been one hundred percent firm on that point. 

Bucky himself is touched beyond words that the people in the room want to help him so much. They shush him when he tries to thank them, but he does it anyway. It is an alien sensation, after so many years of being alone, knowing that there are people who have his back, and don’t _want_ anything in return. He is glad to have that. All in all, today has been a REALLY good day. So much better than yesterday. And it’s not over yet. 

-

Owing the lateness of the hour after their dinner engagement finally breaks up, Natasha decides to stay the night and fly home in the morning. T’Challa gives her a suite down the hall from the rest of them. She and Sam elect to shoot some pool in the rec room. Steve and Bucky linger there with them for a while before they opt to call it a day. As they say their good-nights and head for the door, Sam stops them. He is leaning over the billiards table for a long shot and pauses while lining up his cue. 

“Don’t forget what I said now, about my beauty sleep.” 

Even without context, Natasha gets it and laughs along with Bucky, while Steve attempts a disapproving look and fails. Bucky takes his hand and pulls him from the room. He doesn’t let go either, leading Steve down the hall by the hand, fingers entwined. There is no question between them where they are headed. 

-

They are snuggled together on Steve’s couch after having caught “An Affair to Remember” on the TV. There is no space between them, sitting with their feet up on the coffee table, bodies touching from shoulder all the way down their long legs. Bucky’s head rests on the arm that is slung casually around his back. 

Once in a while they must rewind, when they get carried away kissing and miss important plot points. Bucky can agree that Cary Grant is suave and very charismatic, but no way is he sexier than Brando. He insists that Steve watch “A Streetcar Named Desire” just to be proven wrong. When they click off the television, Steve gives him a sweet look. 

“Will you come and stay with me again tonight?”

“You bet your ass I will,” Bucky replies enthusiastically. “I’ll be right back.” 

He would prefer to spend every night in Steve’s bed from now on and abandon his own suite. Steve is all he ever wants, every day, for eternity. When he enters Steve’s bedroom, he finds him spread out on the bed, lying on his stomach, scrolling through something on the cell phone held out in front of him. He wears only boxer shorts. 

And Steve thinks _Bucky_ is beautiful? It takes his breath away, to see the expanse of smooth skin laid out before him. He piles onto Steve’s back playfully, lying on top of him and snatching the phone right out of his hands. He tosses it to the floor amidst Steve’s protest and parks his hands on Steve’s broad shoulders. He likes the way Steve’s body feels under his and decides to stay there, settling in and getting comfy.

“Baseball box scores, really?” He kisses the back of Steve’s neck and nibbles with soft lips at the lobe of one ear. 

“I was only waiting for you to get in here!” Steve’s hands are upturned in self-defense. “You take so long brushing your hair,” he teases.

Bucky laughs and gives him a light nip on the earlobe he was just ravishing. “Maybe you’d like it more if I cut it short?”

“No!” Steve tips his body sideways, shaking Bucky off so he lands with a _whump_ next to him. “I didn’t mean that. Unless you want to cut it off, I guess.” 

Thinking about it, Bucky faces Steve and rests his head on his hand. “No, I don’t want to cut it. I kinda like it how it is now.” 

Steve has his head turned to the side to see him; he gives him a smoldering look and reaches over while still on his belly, running his fingers through the dark, silky locks. “I do, too.” His eyes run down the length of Bucky’s form. “I like all of you the way you are now.” 

A warmth spreads through Bucky’s heart, not just because Steve can see past his scarred shoulder and metal arm, but because he sees him for the person he is on the inside. There is warmth in other body parts too, because of the way Steve’s eyes are roaming up and down over him. 

He slides one hand over Steve’s shoulder and down his back, registering the way the muscles blend seamlessly together to make up that exquisite body. A part of him can’t believe this day has been real, that the remarkable being lying on the bed opposite him loves him, wants to be with him. It can’t be possible, and yet here Steve is, willing to share his bed, share his life with him. Here Steve is, looking at him _that_ way, like his eyes could burn the clothes right off Bucky’s body. 

“I want to make you feel good,” he tells Steve softly. “What would make you feel good?”

Steve shifts so that he is on his side, too, facing Bucky, and Bucky’s hand now rests on his flank. As he moves, Bucky can feel the strength of his muscles, dormant now but coiled and ready to spring at a moment’s notice. Steve only shakes his head slowly. 

“You already did that. You tell me what you want this time.”

Bucky grins and slides his hand up and down over Steve’s side. “Ohhhh, that’s an easy one. I want to fuck you right into next week, and then keep going.” 

He doesn’t even try to beat around the bush, because as soon as Steve touches him, he’s going to figure it out. And he doesn’t _have_ to beat around the bush, because Steve’s predatory-looking eyes are darkening as they speak. 

Taking his time, Steve moves closer, so close their bodies touch at various points all the way down to their toes. All he needs to do to kiss Bucky is dip his head slightly in toward him. His plush, warm lips touch Bucky’s softly, while one hand settles on his chest, fingers splayed. 

Steve kisses him slowly, unhurriedly, fingers tracing circles over his skin as he explores it. He brushes over one nipple and lingers there, rubbing it until he feels it tighten and pebble with his touch. Gentle and thorough, he only stops his light kisses to Bucky’s lips so that he may duck his head down and take the nipple into his mouth, sucking it between his lips and circling his tongue around it.

Bucky allows a low groan to escape and reaches his hand around the back of Steve’s head, holding him close. His back arches with pleasure when Steve’s teeth graze him. More kisses rain down across his chest, slow and tender; his cock jumps responsively when Steve’s hand meanders down over his abdominals and boxer briefs, cupping his erection. He palms it slowly while his mouth moves back up to Bucky’s neck, tongue licking, lips sucking at the sensitive skin at his throat. 

Lying on the bed next to him, Bucky is acutely aware of every centimeter of skin that touches Steve’s. Steve is enjoying exploring his body as much as Bucky is enjoying being explored; small hums of pleasure emerge from him as he kisses his way down and across one pectoral muscle, then drags his tongue down the valley between them. 

He drapes one leg over the top of Bucky’s to increase their shared surface area and continues his assault on Bucky’s chest. The tip of his tongue licks its way decadently over the second mound of pectoral muscle, like Bucky is dessert, free for the taking. 

Bucky clings to Steve’s hip and gasps for air, grasping the firm flesh of one cheek. He pulls Steve even more on top of him, closer, more skin on skin. He tries not to moan openly, but is ready to fall apart under Steve’s talented hands and lips. 

They are so close on the bed that he can feel Steve’s hardening shaft press against his thigh. He shifts and rocks his hips forward and back, pushing his cock against Steve’s. Hot desire floods his senses. Steve exhales sharply and clutches at Bucky’s lower back, grinding their bodies together, pressing himself to his lover. They writhe against each other, letting the friction between them harden their blossoming erections. 

“Steve,” Bucky groans out weakly. 

Steve’s mouth is currently fastened to the hollow of his neck, licking into it to sample more of him. What Bucky wants is for Steve’s mouth to be on his, but their arms are tangled together and it’s hard to move his hand from Steve’s ass. Not that he really wants to move it from Steve’s ass, because his ass is _fantastic_. Fortunately his groan seems to have communicated his wishes well enough, because Steve brings his head back up and matches his lips to Bucky’s, kissing him and slipping his tongue into his mouth eagerly.

Just as Bucky thinks the friction between them is going to make for some quick and sudden orgasms, Steve lets go of him. He takes Bucky’s hand and guides it over his own back. When he brings their hands down, slipping inside his boxers to the cleft between his cheeks, both men are unable to keep quiet. It is a curious feeling, to moan low in his throat and feel the moan on Steve’s lips reverberating against his. 

Bucky’s fingers find their way to Steve’s entrance and rub over it slowly. God, he wants in there right now, to feel Steve’s tight body clench around him. 

“Steve,” he breaks off to whisper, “I want you.”

Steve responds with one additional fast, savage kiss on the mouth, and rolls away from him to retrieve the lube from the bedside table drawer. The lights are still on in the room, so he doesn’t have to fumble blindly for the bottle. They could easily switch off the lamps, but Bucky likes it this way; he can appreciate Steve’s defined muscles and supple skin all the more. 

As his partner grabs the bottle of lube, Bucky divests himself of his clothing. Steve is rolling back to him, but Bucky stops him when he is on his back. He gets up on his knees on the bed; Steve bridges up so Bucky can work his boxers down and get them off his legs. His erection is impressive, long and thick, glistening at the tip, but Bucky leaves that be for the time being. His interest lies elsewhere. 

With a touch of one hand to the inside of Steve’s thigh, Steve spreads his legs for him, allowing Bucky to move in between them and pull them up and over his own muscled thighs. Steve keeps his eyes on him as Bucky slicks up his flesh fingers. Even the way he licks his lips makes Bucky thrum and burn with desire. He slides his fingers down, finds the tight ring of muscle he seeks and watches Steve’s face carefully as he works his way past the barrier with one finger. 

Turns out he doesn’t have to worry about Steve at all. He is handling the intrusion just fine—it is Bucky himself who stops and closes his eyes briefly to adjust. Just having one finger inside Steve, surrounded by that velvety heat, imagining his cock enveloped in it, has almost made him come. He has to slow down just to get control over himself. 

“Buck?”

He opens his eyes and smiles at the concerned draw of Steve’s eyebrows. “Christ, you feel so good, I almost lost it.”

“Oh.” Steve’s eyebrows relax. “Well, don’t do that,” he smiles teasingly. 

It makes Bucky both laugh and want to wipe that superior smile off of his face. He adds a second finger and then twists both. He probes deeper, searching for that special spot. He knows he has found it when the smile disappears and is replaced with a look of surprise and lust. He crooks his fingers and strokes him, hitting that bundle of nerves, pushing in and out to give Steve a little hint of what’s to come. 

Steve’s body has grown taut; his lips form a perfect “O” and he cries out a little. One hand shoots out instinctively to grab Bucky’s wrist, not to stop him but to steady himself against the new sensations. 

Smiling slyly, Bucky checks to make sure he’s okay. “You doin’ alright, baby?”

Steve is breathing hard as he nods, never taking his eyes off Bucky’s. “Don’t stop,” he begs. 

Stopping is the last thing on Bucky’s mind. He himself is feeling all kinds of new sensations, too. His cock is so rock hard, he can hardly stand not touching himself while he fingers Steve. Looking down at Steve’s strong erection isn’t helping either. He can’t really wait any longer—he needs to get inside him or he might shoot his load all over his belly. 

When Bucky removes his fingers, Steve lets go of his hand. Bucky snares his wrist and pushes Steve’s arm back and up on the bed by his head. Steve’s face is flushed, but his expression willing. Giving him a wet, hot, tongue-filled kiss, Bucky then leans back and hitches Steve’s legs up high over his waist. 

Touching his own cock is risky business, so he quickly lines himself up and pushes in. He stops halfway, both to let Steve adjust to him and because he is totally unprepared for how fucking good it feels to be engulfed by him. _Oh God_. The pressure around his shaft is unbelievable. He drives himself in further, all the way, eliciting a low, throaty moan of delight from his lover. 

“Buck,” he groans. “ _Holy shit_.” 

Bucky smiles; got another swear word. Must mean Steve likes this as much as he does. Steve’s body seems to like it; he’s got no memory of anyone clamping down around him like this. Leaning forward, Bucky braces both hands on the large headboard behind them, and starts thrusting his hips. 

He moves languidly at first, enjoying the keening sounds Steve is making and the look of bliss on his face. He honestly can’t help it when his pace quickens and his hips start rocketing harder at the end of each pass. Fuck, it’s so good he can hear angels singing. Every time he moves and his cock slides in and out of that tight, hot channel he has to suppress a cry. 

The four poster bed is solid, heavy oak, but the entire frame is shaking with the force of his thrusts. He is fucking Steve in earnest, his powerful thighs clenching as he ruts against him over and over. The temperature in the room must be a million degrees, as sweaty as Bucky feels. His face is hot, and he can feel a bead of sweat start trickling down the middle of his back. 

Steve is also red and has a tell-tale look of shininess to him. His hands grasp at Bucky’s hips as if to impale himself further onto his cock with each drive. Bucky knows he is getting close to his orgasm; Steve is so tight around him he feels like his cock might get ripped right off. Looking down, he sees that Steve is in the same condition; pre-cum is flowing freely from the tip of his ridiculously huge erection. 

“Touch yourself for me, baby,” he gasps out breathlessly. “I want you to come, too.”

Immediately Steve latches on to his own shaft, as if he’s been waiting for Bucky to tell him to. He strokes himself hard and fast. His hand is curled around his cock, twisting and pulling in sync with Bucky’s thrusts. 

“Oh my God,” Bucky groans, watching the display below him. Steve’s muscled chest and stomach, bathed in sweat, swaying on the bed as Bucky continues his barrage. He is dazzling, utterly unforgettable, even more so when his eyes meet Bucky’s and he cries out his name. That image will remain engrained in Bucky’s memory forever. 

When Bucky sees the thick strands of pearly fluid shoot out over Steve’s stomach, it sends him over the edge, careening into his own searing climax. He almost screams when it hits him, and bucks his hips ferociously against Steve’s ass. 

It takes a great deal of effort not to crush the headboard under his grip. Waves of euphoria jar him and move through his body, eventually slowing enough for him to catch his breath. Every single muscle feels like it has cramped up, so strong was his finish. 

Steve looks like he may slip into a coma; he looks so boneless he can hardly move. His legs are dead weight on Bucky’s hips. Carefully Bucky lowers them back down to the bed and pulls out. The cold air is a shock, after being inside the burning, delicious heat of Steve’s body.

Lying down next to him, Bucky is immediately pulled in by Steve for a long, searching kiss. _There’s no way it could get better than this_ , Bucky thinks to himself, but then it does. Steve pulls back and says, “I love you,” and it’s like Bucky can’t breathe again. Only this time it isn’t pain taking his breath away, it is love. 

“I love you, too,” he chokes out, and Steve wraps his arm around him, holding him to his side tightly. 

“I’m never letting go,” Steve promises softly, and Bucky thinks now, finally, he can let Steve love him, feel worthy of that love, and give it back just as fiercely. Because they do belong together, and always will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I am such a sap for these two. Fin! At least for now...am starting Part Two, because I just love Steve and Bucky THAT MUCH. But first I'm going to post some fluffy AU, because that really hits the spot every now and again. Thank you all for sticking with this and being so encouraging and lovely. You all rock my world.


End file.
